Pirates of the Caribbean: Armada of the Damned
by Franklin2013VMI
Summary: A Philip/Syrena romance and unofficial fifth installment of the series. Expect a full cast later on. Rated "T" for historical accuracy as the elements of piracy, naval warfare, and life in the 1750s will not be sugar-coated.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** I, Franklin D. Van Valkenburg, do not claim to own _Pirates of the Caribbean_ nor any of the content within this story that is a part of the _Pirates of the Caribbean_ universe. Furthermore, I do not financially profit in any way by posting this story. This is purely for entertainment purposes for the general public.  
><strong>Author's Note:<strong> Ahoy mates! I've been an anonymous browser here on for years, but after seeing _Pirates of the Caribbean: On Stranger Tides_, I finally decided to join the site and contribute. As such, this is my first fanfic, which I hope will entertain you and intrigue you. I have done my best, using the _Pirates of the Caribbean_ Wiki, to concoct a story that both fits into the constraints of the series universe and expands upon it. The story itself is a mesh between a Philip/Syrena spinoff and an unofficial fifth installment of the _Pirates of the Caribbean_ series, the purpose of which is to give fans of both this couple and the series as a whole what they've been waiting for. Sit back, relax, and enjoy!

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><p>GENESIS<p>

Philip Swift opened his eyes. He felt the cool and rough texture of rock under his shoulders, the gentle brush of wind across his brow. Above him the light played on the cracks and crevasses of a cave's roof. He propped himself up on his elbows and looked out of the cave's mouth, squinting at the blinding white sand. Beyond the sand was the vivid turquoise of the shallows and the royal blue of the Caribbean. The sky was vibrant and without clouds from what he could see within the cave. This didn't bother him at all; clouds brought rains and humidity, which did not bode well for a man in the tropics. He rather preferred this weather, what having spent the first twenty-four years of his life in the gray fog of Cornwall. This past was apparent by his exceptionally white skin, the signature of a newcomer to the Caribbean. Unfortunately, this also meant he would suffer under the sun's rays until he too gained the tan and weathered look.

The sunburn was nowhere near the thoughts that ran through his head. He looked down at his chest, reaching up to explore his skin with his fingertips. Yesterday he had been barely able to stand, the wound across his chest trickling blood much like grains of sand ran down an hourglass. In its place was a pink scar, void of dried blood or split skin. As his fingertips graced it he realized that it was also painless, as if he had been months on the mend. Philip wasn't a fighting man, but he had seen his fair share of accidents. The wound he had suffered was one he should never have survived. Even as he thought these things, his mind was focused elsewhere, multitasking much like he did when he conversed with God unbeknownst to others around him.

Syrena. She was where his mind was. He remembered those final moments, the moments that should have culminated in his audience with the King as he left his body and knelt before the gates for judgment. Her eyes had been locked on his as she bobbed about in the jungle pool, her eyebrows furrowed and the corners of her mouth ever so slightly turned up in the hint of a smile. Her expression had been that of endearment at his selfless request. He could still feel her tender hand reaching up behind his ear, her lips touching his in the kiss legend said man could never get. Then he had plunged into darkness, both into the depths of the jungle pools and his consciousness. What had happened between then and the present was a mystery to him.

The missionary blinked and looked back into the cave. It was rather small, just tall enough for him to stand with his head bent. A crack in the cave's roof emitted sunlight that filtered down through the darkness like a knife, drawing a glowing shape on the cave's floor. He could see dim shadows dancing in it, no doubt from palm leaves blowing in the breeze outside. His attention quickly turned to something else, something that made his heart race. He was resting on a ledge overlooking a pool of water. The pool filled the back half of the cave, disappearing under the back wall and extending into darkness. Philip rolled onto his side and peered into it, gauging its depth. It was deep enough. The realization that his entry into the cave had not been through the mouth in the front made him smile. He stuck his fingers into the water and pulled them through it, stirring the pool's surface with little ripples that fanned out like a wake. When nothing happened he flicked the water's surface and splashed it a little, wondering if she were down there and could hear him. Still, there was nothing.

Disappointed, Philip sat up and looked back outside at the sand. He didn't want to leave the cave, but wondered where he was on the island. After mulling it over for a few moments, he rose to his haunches and stood, reaching up and running his hand along the cave's roof as he stepped outside. The wind hit him as he stepped into the sun, blowing his hair across his face and playing with the fabric of his breeches. He reached up and tucked his hair behind his ears, then let his hand slide down to his chest. His fingers traced the Cross about his neck and he looked about, noting that he could see a wispy pillar of smoke rising from where the lighthouse had exploded days ago. The _Queen Anne's Revenge_ was nowhere to be seen, but he could see the topmasts of a ship rising out of the anchorage down the beach like a skeleton's fingers. Flotsam and wreckage was strewn across the beach inland of the wreck and he wondered if the ship had belonged to the British or the Spanish. Either way, it meant that there was a chance that others were still on the island, and if they were Spanish, he did not want to be seen. As an Englishman and more importantly, a Protestant, a Catholic Don was the last man he would like to see on this island.

He swept his eyes across the dense and lush jungle, noting how the sun shone on the palms and the occasional bird as it rose up from the treetops. Then he returned to the mouth of the cave and took up his spot next to the pool of water. It was empty, the water's surface as placid as he had found it before. Deep down he wished she had been there waiting for him, her face full of innocent curiosity and wonder. That look warmed him, to see her purity so plainly on her face. He wondered where she was, if and when she would return, and the fear that she wouldn't slipped across his mind.

"Father, I thank You for this blessing, the gift of life," Philip murmured as he laid back, "You have kept me on Your creation though I faced death. Consequently, I open my eyes and ears for Your direction, for Your plan for my life is unknown to me. I know not where You will guide me, but give me the strength and faith to follow You without hesitation. I am also thankful for what has happened to me these past days, for Your mysterious and beautiful creation, and for the love that I have stumbled into. Surely this is a gift that only You can bestow on man, for I am certain that I am the only man on Your creation to have experienced this love. May Your word be my guidance in this adventure and may I manifest Your love for her through my own affection. In Your Holy name I pray, Amen."

Philip closed his eyes, folding his hands and resting them on his chest as he listened to the sounds of the sea and the murmur of the wind through the trees outside.

* * *

><p>When he awoke again it was dark. He realized then that he should have remained wake, as now it was night and he felt not a hint of fatigue. The moon had risen, unchallenged in its command of the night sky as it illuminated the white sand in its soft glow. Though it was dark he needed no light to see in the cave, the sand reflected the moon's light into the mouth of his shelter well enough. He rolled onto his side again and propped himself up on one elbow, pausing as his eyes met hers. The moonlight also crept down through the crack in the cave's roof, this time shining on the pool's surface and refracting onto the cave's roof in little dancing fragments. As such the light shone on her much like a spotlight at an opera, making her skin glow with a serenity that still took his breath away. She dipped down into the water gracefully, bobbing back up as she treaded water. It caused the hair about her shoulders to fan out on the water's surface, much like a drop of paint on a wet canvas. She bobbed over to the pool's edge and her delicate fingers crept up over the rock, holding herself steady as she curiously cocked her head. Her mouth again barely turned up into the hint of a smile and Philip suddenly remembered to breathe.<p>

"You are rested?" she asked.

Philip nodded, "Yes. There was nothing else that I could do."

Syrena looked over to another part of the cave, "I brought you something."

Philip followed her eyes and reached out, picking up the sword slowly and bringing it into the moonlight. It was the spadroon he had pinned her with, a simple and sturdy straight blade with a squared hand guard and slotted hilt. It had certainly seen better days, but he knew it was still quite reliable.

"Why?" he asked, setting the sword down on the rocks with a scrape.

"To protect," she answered, "It can be a useful tool."

"Are we not alone?" Philip asked.

"We are alone. The British lie dead in what was once their ship and the Spanish have sailed," Syrena reported, "But the rest of my kind still lurk offshore."

Philip nodded slowly, "They will not come ashore?"

"No. Not unless there is someone to carry them." she said, her mouth creeping into a small smile as one of her hands slid across the rock to his.

"Then what do we do?" Philip asked.

Syrena squeezed his hand, then withdrew hers and bobbed back in the water, "We live."

Philip cracked a smile, both in approval of her plan and to hide his conflicting thoughts. He loved her, but what would he do here? He felt there was more to his second chance at life than to simply live alone on a deserted island with Syrena. What's more, he had no food, no shelter beyond the cave they were in, and no extra clothing.

"What if we tried to leave this island? As appealing as your proposition sounds, I am of the opinion that God has more in store for us." Philip said.

"I will follow you wherever you go," Syrena answered, sliding her hands back up over the pool's edge and pulling her arms over it. She reached out and touched his arm, "I am yours just as I know you are mine."

Philip reached up and put his hand over hers, "Your beauty lies not in your exotic body, but in your inexplicably innocent character. What purity and devotion! Such a heart can only be made by God."

Syrena's lips turned up into a unabashed smile, "I know not all the words you speak, but I know they mean good; I can see it in your eyes."

Philip arched a brow, "What do you speak? What does it sound like?"

"I speak French, which I am sure you have heard." Syrena said, sliding her hand up to his chin and grazing his stubble with her fingertips.

"Mermaids speak French?" Philip asked in surprise.

"We speak the language of our homelands, there is no mermaid language." Syrena explained.

"So mermaids come from all over the world?" Philip mused, "How extraordinary! Where in French waters are you from? The Bay of Biscay?"

Syrena returned her hand to the pool's edge and she pushed herself up, churning the pool's water with her shimmering coral-colored tail. She sat next to him as Philip sat up and swung his bare legs over the edge, his feet entering the cool water. He smiled as the wispy fins down either side of her tail brushed his legs; it tickled yet he did not move. She scooted closer to him, so close their shoulders touched and he felt her soft and moist skin, her wet hair.

"Philip, what do you know of the sea?" she asked, looking at him, "What legends have you heard?"

Philip blinked, sorting through everything he had ever heard. He knew many of the stories from his older brother Nathaniel. He would return home from some far off land, bringing trinkets and stories of his adventures with the East India Company. He had been a good man, one of honest trade and reputation. The last he had heard from him, he was in the Far East running tea from Singapore to Bombay. After Lord Cutler Beckett's personal vendettas were exposed in the gazettes around the Empire, Nathaniel vanished and he hadn't heard from him since.

"I have heard many, my opinions of which have been recently challenged," Philip responded, "particularly my beliefs concerning mermaids."

Syrena looked at the pool of water for a moment, the moon catching her tail beneath the surface and filling the water with a million specs of bronze light. The glow faded as her tail brushed back and stirred the glassy surface.

"What do you know about the _Flying Dutchman_?" she asked.

"That she ferries men lost at sea to their appointment with our Divine Maker." Philip spoke, folding his hands in his lap.

Syrena nodded, "Yes. She also protects ships from harm and rescues those who have been shipwrecked."

"Why have I not heard this part of the story?" Philip asked.

"The _Dutchman's_ captain, Davy Jones, was a man like you. He had the freedom to serve Heaven or Hell. When his true love betrayed him, he turned from God to serve the Devil." Syrena explained.

"Is there a way for him to be turned back to God?" Philip asked.

"Davy Jones was killed," Syrena revealed, "The _Flying Dutchman_ has a new captain - William Turner."

Philip arched a brow. He had heard Jack Sparrow mention that name as he told of his adventures. The pirates had dropped Syrena's glass prison when Jack was telling of the Isla de Muerta, so he didn't know the rest of the story. How Will Turner transformed from a plain blacksmith in Port Royal to the immortal captain of the _Flying Dutchman_ was beyond him.

"Have you ever wondered what happens to women lost at sea?" Syrena asked further, "Despite bad omens, we too fair the seas to the corners of the earth."

Philip looked to her, his mouth opening slightly in wonder, "No, I have not. Pray tell me… is this…" he looked at her tail as she stirred the pool with it, "…what happens?"

Syrena nodded slowly, "When women perish at sea we face a similar fate to the crew of the _Flying Dutchman_… our duty is to find the dead and dying while the _Dutchman_ is not near, to care for them with our songs until it arrives."

Philip instinctively reached his arm around her and held her close, "What happened to you, Syrena?"

She turned her eyes to his, her face nearly saddened as her memories flooded back, "I was once Sophia DuPont, a young girl who sailed from her home in Toulon to join her father at his sugarcane plantation. My ship ran into a hurricane and all were lost."

She felt him squeeze her and he remained silent for the briefest moment, "I am truly sorry for what happened. Shall I call you Sophia?"

Syrena shook her head, "No… do not be sorry for me. God did this to me, and had he not I would not be here next to you. I am Sophia DuPont no more. For years I was just a mermaid… but now I am Syrena… your Syrena."

Philip reached across her with his other arm and hugged her. She felt his chin on her shoulder and she smiled, sliding her hands around his waist.

"You know God." Philip mused.

"Yes," Syrena whispered into his ear, "I always have and always will. That is how I knew you were different. I could see Him in you."

Philip withdrew from the embrace, his hands resting at her elbows, "How is it that you are the only mermaid who knows God?"

"There are two sides to every coin," Syrena responded, "Just as it is for the Captain of the _Flying Dutchman_. So it is with each mermaid."

"You have a choice, to sing the mermaids' song either to comfort the deceased or lure the living to their deaths?" Philip made the connection.

"Yes," Syrena said with a nod, "And it is easier to indulge anger and seek revenge than it is to preserve purity. Many mermaids choose to serve the Sirens and lure innocent sailors to their deaths."

"Sirens?" Philip asked.

"The sea is a Holy battleground," Syrena replied, "The Devil made Calypso, the goddess of the sea. A well-intending God-fearing man named Davy Jones set out to love her, to turn her from her creator. He served God as His providence on the high seas, using the power Calypso gave him to ferry the dead to Heaven. He resurrected men as immortals to serve as his crew and women as mermaids to help him. Calypso saw that Jones served God and not the Devil, so she betrayed Jones to break his heart. He turned from God and the Devil gave him the Sirens: daemonic creatures made to counter the mermaids. Entire wars were fought in the depths and the Sirens won. Now most mermaids serve them… even more now since Davy Jones' death."

"So the sea is just as Spiritually war-torn as land…" Philip said quietly.

Syrena looked back to the pool and slid from Philip's arms and back into the water, letting the coolness of her realm engulf her again. Phillip watched her slink below the surface, perplexed by the sudden action and intrigued as she let the air bubble up from her nose to the surface. For a moment they looked at each other, divided by a rippling pane of glass. Then she resurfaced and folded her arms on the pool's edge, resting her chin on them as she looked up at him.

"I was beginning to feel a bit dry," Syrena explained, "Do forgive me."

Philip nodded, "I forgive you."

Syrena giggled as she felt his foot brush her side, just under her arm. They continued to look at one another, then Philip cleared his throat.

"Pray tell me, is the legend of a mermaid's kiss true?" he asked.

Syrena's mouth turned up in another of her innocent hints of a smile as she beckoned for him to draw closer. Philip pulled his legs out of the water and turned onto his stomach so they were eye to eye at the edge of the pool. One of her hands reached up and pushed a loose strand of hair out of his face.

"That a mermaid's kiss will let a man breathe underwater?" she nodded, "Yes. Where else do you suppose you would get air from?"

"And what of your mortality?"

"I was twenty-two when my ship sank in the year of our Lord sixteen hundred eighty-eight." she answered.

Philip's eyes widened, "And this is seventeen hundred fifty. That was sixty-two years ago."

The realization that she would be forever young as he aged saddened him. What would happen when he finally went home to the Lord? Would she ever leave this earth to enter His Kingdom? She said she was waiting for His judgment. As these thoughts crossed his mind he looked at her and she sensed his emotion.

"Philip, do not let it burden you," she said soothingly, "There is still much that you have to learn."

"Is there a way to free you?" Philip asked, "I wish to grow old with you and see you enter the Kingdom of God."

Syrena pulled herself closer to him, so close that their noses touched, "I do not know. Perhaps our God has a different calling for you and me?"

She kissed him softly and Philip returned the kiss. Then she bobbed back in the water as Philip looked at the moonlight on the water.

"What calling could that be?" he mused aloud, "Mermaids comfort the dead or lure the living… yet you do neither of these things."

"As I said before," Syrena spoke, "you are different."

Philip rolled onto his back, looking at the cave's roof as he felt her fingers in his hair. He folded his hands on his chest and wondered what would happen next.

She pulled herself over the edge of the pool, resting on her elbows as she leaned over him, "Go to the wreck at the anchorage down the beach. I will introduce you to someone who can help us get started."

"Get started on what?" Philip asked.

"Fulfilling our destinies." Syrena said as she slid back into the pool.

Philip rolled back over and got onto his hands and knees, watching her curiously as she pointed to the mouth of the cave. Then she turned over in the water, diving down as her tail flashed to the surface and propelled her into the mysterious depths of the tunnel system. For a moment he watched the water, then he sat and pulled on his boots. After picking up the sword, he stood and exited the cave, looking up at the night sky above. It was filled with more stars than he could count and the vastness of God's creation astounded him. The wind played with his open waistcoat and he did one of the buttons, walking across the sand and down the beach towards the remains of the ship he had seen earlier.

Much was on his mind. The legends were true. What's more, they were all a part of something bigger, a war between God and the Devil. The mermaids, the Sirens, Calypso, Davy Jones… they were as much a part of the story as the Crusades. Man simply hadn't heard the whole story because they let the sea divide them from the rest of God's creation. Something had to be done to rectify this and unite the King's forces. At the same time, this realization befuddled him. There was no mention of mermaids or Sirens in the Bible, nor a prophecy of the story of Calypso and Davy Jones. Perhaps these things were woven into the mysteries of Revelation? He could not be sure.

Philip began to weave through wreckage that had washed ashore. Barrels, shattered sections of decking, cordage and canvas. He spotted Syrena in the surf, laying on her belly on a rock. The surf washed up over her to her shoulders, keeping her wet enough to lay out in the open. She spotted him and beckoned for him to come, sitting up and pulling her tail back under her. Philip approached her and stepped into the shallows, pausing as she began to sing.

_The Devil and his men stole the world from His hand_

_And darkness claimed the seas._

"_The seas be ours and by my powers,_

_Where we will, we'll roam!"  
><em>

_Stand fast, my child!_

_Hold the Cro-ss high!_

_Love you, that I do!_

_In ba-ttle, safe, you'll be!  
><em>

_Glo-ry to Je-hov-ah!_

_Hold the Cro-ss high!_

_Glo-ry to the King!_

_For thine, the Vic-tory!_

Philip's mouth opened slightly at Syrena's song, the words of which gave him excitement. She looked over her shoulder, the breeze playing with her hair. Philip's eyes tore from hers as the sea erupted into a frenzy and a ship rose from the depths. It was an old ship, evident by her condition and by her design. Her rotting hull was natural in color with gold accents about the gun ports and along the rails. The weathered sails and rigging were covered in marine growth and sea grass, giving the ship a ghostly appearance.

"She is the _Flying Dutchman_." Syrena announced.

Philip looked at her, then to the shallows as a man walked up out of the depths. He wiped the water from his eyes and face, blinking as he looked to them and approached. He wore a dark frock with a red shirt and sea-green bandanna. His breeches and bucket-top boots were also dark and his dark hair was tucked back behind his ears. Long thin sideburns framed his face and he wore a mustache and goatee.

"Why have you called to me, young maiden?" he asked Syrena.

"Her name is Syrena." Philip immediately corrected.

The man of the sea looked to the missionary and arched a brow.

"Who is this?" he asked Syrena.

"Philip, a man worthy of a mermaid's kiss." she replied.

"My name is William Turner," he addressed Philip, "I am Captain of the _Flying Dutchman_."

Philip stared back. He had trusted Syrena and knew she spoke the truth, but he still had not grown accustomed to so many legends presenting themselves as reality before his eyes.

"We are not so different, you and I," Captain Turner continued as he came closer, "We have both been given a second chance at life out of love, part of a greater plan."

Philip glanced down and noticed the scar on William's chest. It was a ragged and dreadful looking wound, making Philip wonder how it came to be. It looked nothing like a wound suffered in battle… more like the incisions he had seen on cadavers under the hands of experimenting physicians.

"A greater plan?" Philip asked.

"Yes. If what Syrena says is true, then it is beginning." William answered.

"What is beginning?" Syrena joined.

William turned to look out at his ship, a hand resting on his sword. Then he looked over his shoulder, "The Devil's next gambit. If what I have heard about it is true… then we need to start gathering our resources."

Philip stepped over to Syrena and put his hands on her, holding her close to him as he addressed the ghost ship's Captain.

"What makes our love a trigger for what is to come?"

"A trigger? More a confirmation," Turner mused, "There is a new shanty that has become exceedingly popular aboard my ship."

"What is it about?" Syrena questioned.

William turned and walked through the surf over to them, putting a boot up on Syrena's rock and resting his arm across his knee.

"It tells the tale of a young man who sailed from Cornwall, whose heart was pure enough to win the love of a mermaid," William told them, "The Devil was warned of this man, who could turn the tides of war against him, and he set his plan into motion, raising an armada of the damned. The captain in command of this armada will be hard to read, as his character will entertain both good and evil. Many will be deceived by this man, but a stalwart few led by a man armed with fire shall remain."

Philip and Syrena looked to one another, then Philip spoke, "How do you suppose we prepare for this?"

"First, you will need a ship and a crew," William started, "I take it you have neither of those?"

"I am a missionary, not a captain of a ship!" Philip replied with a hint of sarcasm.

"The tides are changing as we speak," William answered him, "I think God has more in store for you than being a missionary."

"Where do I get a ship and crew?" Philip asked.

Turner pointed to the wrecked ship down at the anchorage and Philip arched a brow. He didn't think Turner's suggestion was at all amusing or realistic.

"She's a wreck!" Philip exclaimed, "How do you suggest I sail with a wrecked ship and a dead crew?"

"If only you put as much faith as you do in God into the other aspects of this world…" William commented with a joking grin, "…I can raise her and get you a crew. Give me the rest of the night and she'll be ready to sail by morning!"

"You will raise that ship?" Philip asked further, still in wonderment at Turner's proposition.

"Philip, do not worry. Go back to the cave and get some rest." Syrena said softly as she looked up at him.

Philip looked down at her and saw the assurance on her face. If anything, he trusted her. He looked back to William and nodded.

"Very well, I will return at dawn." he decreed.

The ghost ship's Captain smiled broadly and stepped back, "Great! I will see you soon, Philip…"

"Swift, Philip Swift."

William turned and started wading back into the shallows, leaving Philip and Syrena alone at the rock. She touched his arm.

"I will meet you back in the cave." she said.

Philip nodded and stepped back, sloshing onto the beach and trudging back up the sand to the cave. As he did the wind began to freshen and he smelled coming rain. The night grew darker as clouds hid the moon and soon it was hard to see. He quickly found the cave and ducked into it, taking his place by the pool of water again. He had barely sat down when a Syrena's delicate hand found his and wove their fingers together. Philip laid back and stared into the darkness, listening to the quiet rippling of the pool as Syrena bobbed about.

"I can't see a thing." Philip announced.

"There is no need," Syrena answered him softly, "You do not need eyes to see someone's soul."

Philip squeezed her hand and she squeezed back, "Syrena…"

"Yes, Philip?"

"I love you."

Syrena's hand slipped from his and he felt it cup his face. The pool stirred and he felt droplets of water rain down on his chest, then felt her exotic skin against his as she pulled herself over him. It was an odd sensation, to feel the skin of a woman against his chest and the scales of a fish against his abdomen. What's more, it felt completely innocent, void of lust for flesh. Her nakedness was her condition and she was purely innocent in it. Then he felt her lips touch his, kissing him with a slow passion that he still could not believe. As soon as the moment had come, it passed. Then her fingertips lightly explored his face.

"I love you too, Philip. You have set me free," she whispered in his ear, "Now get some sleep. I will be right here, next to you."

She slid back off him and into the pool, leaving Philip to drift into the best sleep he had had in weeks. Outside, the rains began to fall, thunder cracked and lighting lit the sky, churning the sea furiously in a display of power.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> Syrena's hymn to the sea should be sung to the same tune of _Hoist the Colors High!_ in case you haven't guessed it yet.


	2. Chapter 2

EXODUS

It was the quiet that awoke Philip. The storm had subsided and the sky was just beginning to show a hint of the coming sun. Philip rolled over and looked at the pool, smiling as he saw a bubble float to the surface and pop, sending a series of rippling rings out from the pool's center. He leaned over and looked down, spotting Syrena at the bottom. She laid on her side, her hands folded under her head. Her hair floated about her and her coral tail was still save the fins that ran down the sides. He watched her for a moment, noting how her scales faintly crept up her stomach and sides. At a first glance one might think her naked, but the longer Philip looked at her, the more he felt her scales resembled a low-cut dress without a back. As a matter of fact, despite how naked she seemed, she was actually quite modest in appearance as nothing completely inappropriate could be seen. Another tiny bubble escaped her lips, which looked as though they were trying to pucker for a kiss. That was something about her that Philip adored; how she always seemed forlorn with affection, if that was a way to describe it.

Finally, Philip dipped his hand in the water and stirred it, the motion causing her hair to wave about. Her eyes fluttered open and she looked up at him, her eyebrows furrowing even more as she suppressed a shy smile. She pushed off from the bottom of the pool with her hands and ascended to the surface, breaking it gracefully. Her hand found his under the surface and the held it, rubbing her thumb over his knuckles.

"Good morning, Philip." she greeted him quietly.

"Good morning," Philip replied, "Shall we go see what Captain Turner has done?"

Syrena nodded and let go of his hand, sank back down below the surface, then turned with a smile and darted into the underwater tunnel exiting the cave. Philip grinned and got to his feet, grabbing his spadroon before ducking out of the cave. He put up a hand to shield his eyes from the sun as it started to peek above the horizon, then looked down towards the anchorage. His smile turned to an expression of awe. The ship that had been wrecked on the shoals only last night now floated freely in the anchorage as if nothing had happened. He lowered his hand and ran down the beach, feeling the sand spray up behind him. As he drew closer he spotted William, standing in the surf next to the rock Syrena had used last night. The _Flying Dutchman's_ Captain spotted him and smiled, raising his hand in greeting and gesturing towards the ship behind him. Spray shot up behind the rock and Syrena leapt up onto it, landing on her front and hanging on as she pulled herself into a sitting position.

"I win." Syrena called with another smile.

Philip slowed to a canter as he entered the shallows, dashing water up in front of him, "It was a race?"

"You could not tell?" Syrena asked.

"I jest," Philip replied to her as he walked up behind her rock, "Good morning, Captain Turner."

"Good morning to you, Captain Swift," he replied, "your ship awaits you."

Philip looked over William's shoulder at the ship. She was a magnificent vessel. Philip counted twenty-eight guns, her hull washed black with white along her gun ports. Her bow and stern were accented with white as well.

"What is her name?" Philip asked.

"She is the _Providence_," William announced with a nod, "It appears that she used to be a British privateer."

Syrena nodded, "She was. The captain with a wooden leg sailed her."

"That was Captain Barbossa's ship?" Philip asked her.

"Barbossa has a wooden leg?" William asked, murmuring a few words to himself.

There was a moment of silence, then Philip looked back to William, "Jack Sparrow spoke of you. He said you used to be a blacksmith."

"You know Jack Sparrow?" Turner asked, "What happened on this island?"

Philip looked down towards the anchorage, "It is a long story, but in an abbreviated account, Blackbeard, the British, and the Spanish raced to find the Fountain of Youth."

William looked down at the water about his ankles, "And Jack was with who?"

"Sparrow was with Blackbeard," Philip told him, "I had been enslaved aboard the _Queen Anne's Revenge_ when he came aboard to guide the expedition. Captain Barbossa sailed for the British."

"So you arrived here… and I take it this is where you come into the story?" William asked Syrena.

Syrena nodded and curled her tail about the rock, running her tail fins through the water, "It is how I met Philip."

William looked at the two of them, the pieces of the puzzle beginning to fall into place, "I knew Blackbeard could not make you cry… it was love and affection… a tear of joy."

Syrena nodded again and reached up over her shoulder, finding Philip's hand and holding it.

"What happened next?" he asked Philip.

"Sparrow led us to the Fountain of Youth, Barbossa followed us, and the Spanish managed to track us down. The Dons tried to destroy the Fountain in the name of God as Blackbeard tried to use his daughter's life to gain immortality. Fighting broke out and Barbossa killed Blackbeard." Philip recounted the experience.

William nodded, "Yes?"

"I was mortally wounded," Philip continued, "I left the engagement and found Syrena; they had left her to die in the jungle and I wanted to see her before I went home to God. She saved my life."

William smiled warmly, "Surely that is not the whole story. Mermaids don't just fall in love."

Philip and Syrena looked to one another and smiled, "He protected me from them. He was… is… different."

William's smile broadened, "I know the feeling. Now, I must be going… there is a duty for me to uphold and a destiny for you to meet."

Philip and Syrena looked back to William as he stepped forward, unclipping his sword from his baldrick and offering it to Philip.

"Take this, it is for your first officer," William instructed, "A man's sword is joined with his destiny."

Philip nodded and accepted the sword with his free hand, noting its beauty. It was an elegant court sword with a knot fastened to the hilt, the trademark of a naval officer's dress sword.

"The blade is of folded steel… that's gold filigreed laid into the handle," William commented, his face softening as he appeared to recall the past, "You and I are not the only men deserving of second chances, Philip, tell him that."

"I shall." Philip nodded.

William turned and started walking back into the sea, once more leaving the missionary and the mermaid to themselves. He disappeared from view and minutes later the _Dutchman's_ sails set and the ship got underway, coming about and heading off into the sun. Then she sank into the depths, leaving a frothing stain of white foam on the Caribbean's surface.

"Look." Syrena exclaimed, pointing to the _Providence_.

One of the ship's boats had been lowered over the side and now it was rowing towards them on the beach. Philip looked down to Syrena and arched a brow.

"I guess we'll be leaving this island then." he mused.

"To go where?" she asked.

Philip thought for a moment as he watched the boat draw closer, "I'm not sure."

The boat pulled up into the surf and a man he recognized stepped out. The clothes he wore were similar to the Royal Navy uniform he'd seen him in, albeit what had been blue was now black, once gold now silver, and once white now gray. His buckled shoes had been replaced by a pair of boots like his own and he no longer wore a wig, his hair naturally long and tied back at the nape of the neck.

"Captain Swift," he greeted him, then looked to the mermaid. After a moment of eyeing her and realizing that she was indeed real, he bowed, "M'Lady. I am Daniel Gillette, your third officer."

Philip looked to him, then over Gillette's shoulder at the _Providence_, "Shall we go aboard?"

Gillette gestured towards the boat and Philip sloshed through the surf towards it, turning to face Syrena, "Do you want to come aboard?"

Syrena looked at the boat then back to Philip, "The sea is where I belong, Philip. All you must do is look over the rail."

"Actually, Captain Turner has done something to accommodate that," Gillette spoke, "He said you should look under the rudder chains, below the waterline."

Syrena looked out to the _Providence_, "The… rudder chains?"

"Aye, M'Lady. The back of the ship under the windows, below the water's surface. You'll know it when you see it." Gillette explained.

Syrena looked back at Philip and slid down from the rock, splashing into the water and gliding across the surface as Philip climbed into the boat with Gillette. As Philip set the sword across his lap Gillette grinned.

"Oh, he'll be most pleased to see that!" he mused, "How on earth did you come across it?"

Philip eyed the sword as Syrena slid under the surface and shot past them towards the ship, "This? Captain Turner gave it to me, so I could give it to my first officer."

"You won't find a finer officer in all the Caribbean." Gillette commented as the crew pulled on their oars.

The boat bobbed back across the surf and shallows to the anchorage where the _Providence_ awaited, tugging at her anchor cables like a restless animal. Her previous "life" as a naval vessel and privateer were still apparent. The crew of the boat was clad in their previous attire; short jackets with the lapels buttoned back and long trousers with tarred hats… but now their jackets were charcoal gray with white trousers. It was more or less as if the crew had been resurrected and the color taken right out of them, a reminder that despite the color in their cheeks and the spark of life in their eyes, this was not ordinary. This was their second chance, an opportunity to right their past wrongs.

Below them, Syrena cruised through the murky water. She would occasionally turn onto her back to look up at the bottom of the boat that Philip was in. It was a bit inconvenient, to be divided by their realms, but they would be close enough. She loved him enough to endure the occasional complication. She might not be able to spend every moment with him as they had in the jungle, but just to be near his ship was enough for her. There would be plenty more opportunities to be together. She kicked with her tail and surged forward, feeling the water rush past her, blowing her hair back. She was quite fit, but she didn't have an infinite abundance of energy. As she began to spot the shadow of the ship floating in front of her, she wondered if there was anything she could grab onto. Perhaps Philip could keep a rope over the side, maybe with something at the end of it so she could ride along with the ship as it made longer voyages. She had swum great distances before, but she doubted she could keep up with the ship for such a length of time without stopping.

She spotted the steering device, the object the man named Gillette had referred to as the rudder. She presumed that the rudder chains he spoke of were the cables attached to it that pulled it to either side when the wheel was turned. This much she remembered from that trans-Atlantic voyage some sixty-two years ago. It seemed like a lifetime ago. In all logical thought, she should have been eighty-four, a grandmother with a lifetime of memories behind her. Instead, she felt suspended in her youth. The years had passed and she didn't feel any different, both body and mind; she had since forgotten what it felt like to have legs on a normal basis. When the pirates had dropped the glass case and spilled her onto the jungle floor, her transformation had scared her. She had felt incomplete, alien, incapacitated, embarrassed. She imagined it was how the man with the wooden leg felt.

She swam up to the great underside of the ship, the muffled groans and creaks of its hull reaching her ears. The bottom of the ship was covered in copper sheets, but had turned green with age and exposure. She reached out and touched it, feeling the slickness of algae against her fingers. The details of shipbuilding interested her. These ships were built by men because they could not live in the sea. They were artificial and mobile extensions of land for them to live on. They were a mark of man's ingenuity and creativity, never had she seen anything so intricate and complex. All the masts and sails and rigging looked so confusing, yet for years she had listened to men shout orders using words that had become second nature. In a sense, she felt that these ships sometimes became extensions of their bodies, became living creatures with souls. She could sense the soul of the _Providence_ in the demeanor of Gillette, of the men in the boat. It was a conservative and upstanding ship, one to be proud of. She hardly reeked of the drunkenness and vulgarity of the ship the man named Blackbeard had used.

That's when she noticed it, a square hole cut into the ship's hull. It was on the back of the ship, just below the water's surface where the hull began to taper downward. Curious, she drifted up to it, reaching out and pulling her self in. The hole led inside to a chute, big enough for her to fit into with a little wiggle room. Cautiously, she entered it, guessing that this was what Gillette had spoken of. The chute angled up into the ship and continued for about ten feet, just long enough for her to enter it completely, then it opened into a large wooden basin. She swam into it and broke the surface, looking around her.

William Turner had installed an underwater entrance to the interior of the ship, enabling her to come inside!

The basin wasn't deep, just enough for her to lay underwater in, but that was enough. She sat up, resting in the corner of the basin, and looked at her surroundings. The basin was in the corner of a large compartment, from her guess deeper in the ship just above the waterline to prevent flooding. The compartment was sparsely furnished, but well lit with lanterns that hung from the beams overhead. There was a hammock strung up with a large chest on the deck beneath it and a small oval mirror was hung on the bulkhead next to the basin, which was low enough for her to use. The realization that Turner had included a cabin for her to live in was truly gratifying and she wished she could go and thank him, but she knew he was somewhere far away. With a smile she arched her back and lifted her tail fins out of the water, letting them drip like a waterfall before setting them back down in the basin again. She couldn't wait for Philip to find this and her inside.

The _Providence's_ boat pulled up alongside and the crew tossed their oars, bumping against her hull neatly as Gillette climbed out and up the rungs on the side of the ship. Philip followed suit and climbed up through the entry port, looking up at the masts and struck sails with awe. He had come to respect sailors after being lashed to the crosstrees by Blackbeard. Though heights didn't frighten him, he knew how precarious it was to inch out onto the yards to set sail. The crew milled about the deck, completing their duties and making small conversation as they awaited orders. As Philip stepped aboard they fell silent, watching him intently. Another man with a sharper face clad in a similar uniform to Gillette approached.

"Captain, welcome aboard the _Providence_," he greeted him, "I am Theodore Graves, your second officer."

"I remember you," Philip responded, "you displayed great courage and patriotism at the Fountain."

Graves looked down at the deck for a moment, "Those dastardly Spanish… hopefully we'll get another crack at them."

"Mr. Graves, that'll do." another voice spoke.

The crew parted and a man also dressed in a predominantly black and gray uniform stepped forward. His coat was cut differently, having broad gray lapels and a pair of silver epaulettes on his shoulders. A red sash was worn about his waist and his black hair was pulled back a little more neatly. His face was thin and distinguished, his eyes carrying a great amount of discipline.

"I am James Norrington, your first officer," the man greeted Philip, "Perhaps we should retire to the great cabin for introductions after we get underway?"

"Yes," Philip nodded, "We need a heading."

Norrington clasped his hands behind his back, "Where to, Captain?"

Philip looked about the deck, feeling the crew's eyes on him as he thought. Where would he start? He needed to find others who might know more and be able to help.

"Where would you sail to find Jack Sparrow?" he asked.

Norrington blinked, a hint of emotion flashing through his eyes. From what Philip could tell, he had run into Sparrow in the past… and their encounter wasn't a friendly visit. Judging by the man's dress, it was likely that he had chased Sparrow at some point in his life, undoubtedly a failed venture.

"I would sail to Tortuga and start there." Norrington replied, "Though I doubt that's where we'll find him… he's a hard man to catch."

Philip nodded, "Then we sail to Tortuga, Mr. Norrington."

The _Providence's_ first officer touched his hat in a military gesture of respect, certainly out of habit. He paused, blinking as he recalled that he was not aboard a naval vessel, then turned to the deck at large.

"You heard the Captain! Hands aloft and loose the tops! Gillette, put a detail on the capstan and set our course East, Southeast." he ordered.

The crew of the _Providence_ jumped to life as the officers called their commands. Men climbed up over the rail and onto the shrouds, making their way up to the fighting tops to shimmy out on the yards. Philip watched this spectacle, realizing that these men had jumped to at his word. The ship was his and it felt quite strange. Until now he had always been at the service of others; never before had so many looked to him. Norrington walked past and paused by Philip's shoulder.

"The other officers and I will be waiting in the great cabin, Captain. When you are ready."

Philip looked over at Norrington and held up the sword he carried, "Captain Turner said to give you this."

Norrington's mouth opened in awe as he slowly accepted the sword, pulling it halfway out of the scabbard to look at the blade.

"He said that you received a second chance because you deserved it," Philip spoke, "remember that as you wear that sword."

Norrington sheathed it again, the blade scraping against the scabbard until the hilt tapped home, then offered Philip his hand, "Everything is beginning to make sense now, Captain. Know that until my time comes again, I shall be at your side."

Philip accepted the man's hand and shook it, "And I yours, Mr. Norrington. I don't have to know much about you to see that you are an upstanding gentleman."

Norrington departed and stepped aft, rounding up Gillette and Groves as they headed down the companionway towards the great cabin. Philip turned and followed, but veered off to look over the ship's hammock nettings at the water below. His eyes scanned the ship's wake, peering for a glimpse of bronze just under the surface. She had said she would follow… perhaps the _Providence_ was too fast for her? She couldn't, no. Syrena had darted out from the surf at a much greater speed earlier. Where was she? He wished he could call to her, but she would never his him from down there. Perhaps she was forward? Dolphins often streaked along just before a ship's bows. What if she did the same? He started forward towards the forecastle, noting how the men stopped to let him pass along the waist of the ship. Someone down below on the gun deck exclaimed and another whistled.

"I'm telling you the truth! I saw it with mine own eyes! She was a real mermaid as sure as day!"

"You jest!"

"Nay! They have her stowed away in the hold!"

Philip turned and rushed back towards the quarterdeck, squeezing past deckhands as they tried to make way. He turned down a companionway and nearly leaped down it, catching the rail to spin around and slide down the next ladder to the second deck below. Bewildered, men pressed up against each other, touching their brows in respect as if they were tipping hats. He waved them off as he descended to the ship's hold, blinking as he eyes tried to drink in the darkness. There were a few lanterns that swung from the deck head beams, which cast odd shadows amongst the barrels and crates of cargo. He looked aft and noticed a door at the end of a boardwalk laid down over the ribs of the ship. It looked as though a bulkhead had been put up to close off a section of the ship's hold, much like the operating space was on the orlop deck, where surgeons needed their privacy for their grim work.

Philip made for it and threw open the door, pausing in pleased surprise at what he saw. The partition divided the hold from what was literally a modestly furnished cabin at the stern of the ship, as if the _Providence_ was expecting an extra officer that would live in the bowels of the ship. There was a hammock strung up over a sea chest, a wash basin, a mirror, a small wardrobe, and several lanterns hung about the deck above to better light the living space. The other half of the cabin's deck was lowered, creating a large basin that was filled with water. At one end he could see a square opening that undoubtedly led down a chute to a port cut in the stern of the ship. It all became clear to him now and he wished he could thank Captain Turner for making the _Providence_ mermaid accessible.

"Can you believe it?" Syrena asked as she lounged in the corner of the basin, "Not only do I not have to swim, I can live on board with you!"

Philip smiled and approached, kneeling down at the edge of the water basin, "This is magnificent! The only trouble I see is keeping the crew from disturbing you… I have already heard rumblings…"

"They will talk, they will come," Syrena answered, "but none shall do anything to me."

"I will speak to the officers," Philip decided, "We will inform the men and instruct them not to disturb you. They will have to obey."

Syrena nodded, "Where is your cabin?"

"I imagine just above you," he answered, "in the great cabin. Speaking of which, I must go there now. The officers want to get to know me presently."

Syrena nodded, "Where are we going?"

"Tortuga, to find Jack Sparrow."

* * *

><p>Norrington looked to Groves and Gillette, "And that is my story. Not the most stalwart, but certainly dynamic."<p>

Philip nodded from where he sat at the table in the great cabin, "I beg to differ, Mr. Norrington. You died an honorable man who put faith in God. That is enough to absolve you of your other sins. That is why you have been given another chance. That goes for the other two of you."

Groves and Gillette looked to one another and Gillette leaned forward, "Thank you, Captain, but I think I am hardly deserving."

"That is a normal opinion," Philip said, "The only thing we deserve is damnation in Hell, but we have been forgiven by Christ. It is one thing to agree to these terms with God, but another to accept them yourself."

The four men remained silent for a moment and Groves cleared his throat, "Shall I muster the hands for the briefing?"

Philip nodded, "Muster the hands, Mr. Groves. I will be outside shortly."

The three officers stood and bowed their heads in respect; Norrington's arm twitched slightly as he nearly saluted again and caught himself. They turned and left the cabin, leaving Philip alone. He looked about the cabin, both content and discontent with it. It wasn't overly luxurious, no, it wasn't the cabin's furnishings that bothered him. As a matter of fact, he appreciated the simplicity of the cabin as it was not dissimilar to his quarters at the seminary. It was the fact that he resided a deck above Syrena's cabin that bothered him. He wished that he could be with her, so they could talk to one another as they had in the cave.

He stood and walked over to one of the narrow doors that opened into the quarter galleries of the stern. On the other side of the bulkhead was a little sleeping cabin. It was also sparsely furnished, much like Syrena's cabin. It was set up in a similar manner with a chest on the deck under a hammock and a wardrobe along the wall. A wash basin stood next to the wardrobe and a mirror was hung over it. The cabin differed from Syrena's in that it was washed white to match the rest of the great cabin and was naturally lit by the curving windows of the quarter gallery. He looked out through the salt-stained glass and could make out the smudge that was the island they had just sailed from.

Philip turned away from the window and looked at himself in the mirror hung above the wash basin. Though Syrena had healed him of his wounds and he was void of abrasions, his skin was still grimy from the search for the Fountain of Youth. What's more, he hadn't shaved since being taken by Blackbeard several weeks ago. His stubble was more or less a light beard and mustache now, making him all the more eager to get cleaned up. He grabbed the white cloth that was draped over the lip of the wash basin and folded it, then dipped it into the water and started scrubbing at his neck and chin. The grime came off slowly, soiling the cloth greatly and rubbing his skin red. He would need more than a damp cloth. He wanted a tub and a bar of soap, he wanted to feel the grit of the soap and he wanted a proper shave. After battling the grime with the cloth for a few more minutes he gave up and dropped the cloth into the wash basin to soak. He turned and knelt to open the sea chest under the hammock. Inside he found clean shirts and breeches, simple in cut and of conservative material. The breeches were black and the shirts a crisp white. He stood again and opened the wardrobe, finding a black weskit much like the one he wore and a single-breasted frock of black cloth with slash cuffs and cloth-covered buttons. Captain Turner must have noticed the Cross around his neck and guessed his profession correctly. There were other accoutrements hung on pegs in the bulkhead next to the wardrobe that he would never have worn in seminary or abroad as a missionary; a black leather baldrick with a simple steel buckle, a black felt cocked hat with a white cockade and pewter button, and a black leather pistol belt to match the baldrick. Above the pegs was a sword rack, in which his old spadroon now rested. It was a reminder that he was now heading towards a future entwined with swordplay and cannon fire.

"God, where are You taking me?" Philip asked quietly, "What is Your plan?"

_Not all God-fearing men are called to lives of solitude and peace._

Philip froze, looking up to the deck above, "But my convictions lead me to such. Why are you taking me elsewhere?"

_Philip, you love me. You do not need to walk the earth as a missionary to prove this. Some men are called to lives of peace and solitude... others are called to lives of action and service. Such is my plan __for you! You are different. You protect. That is a strength that I will not allow to go unused._

Philip sank slowly to his knees as he looked up, his hands at his sides, "Father, I want only to serve You. Guide me and let me see Your will!"

_Look around you, Philip. You are Captain of My divine Providence now. Lead her in My glorious name for My glorious cause._

Philip bowed his head, "Give me the strength, to meet the days to come with unflinching spirit. Amen."

He stood and rolled his shoulders, then exited his sleeping cabin and the great cabin. The spar deck's buzz of low chatter silenced as he came topside, stepping up behind Norrington and the other officers as Norrington cleared his throat.

"Men, after conferring with the Captain, I have some news and a new addition to the ship's articles," Norrington announced, "The rumors are true. There is indeed a mermaid aboard this vessel."

A murmur ran through the crew and Groves snapped the command to silence.

"She is in the care of our Captain and as such is a guest aboard this ship. Consequently, she is to be treated as such and _will not_ be disturbed. The penalty for a breach in this decree shall be a dozen from the cat and a subsequent spell in the shrouds," Norrington warned, "Now, this ship will not be known for the severity of its discipline, as I expect there will be no violation of the ship's articles. That is all. Crew dismissed."

"You heard Mr. Norrington, back to your stations!" Gillette called, "Mr. Rogers, a navigational report, if you please!"

The crew dispersed as Norrington turned to face Philip, his hands behind his back in his usual ramrod-straight posture.

"Discipline is good," Philip agreed, "I just pray that it never has to be enforced with punishment."

"I pray otherwise," Norrington suggested, "As much as we may dislike punishing our men, it is a demonstration of control over not only the crew, but over ourselves. I laid down the law and the crew expects me to uphold it. That is the way of discipline and respect aboard a crack ship, Captain. Now, with respect sir, if you will excuse me."

Philip's first officer strode away to the ship's pilot, conferring with Gillette as he examined the standing compass and looked over a chart spread across a table. Philip realized the man was right. A good parent was expected to reprimand their children when they misbehaved. He looked up at the tangled mess of rigging and wondered if he would ever figure the intricacies of shipboard life out. It would have to be soon if he was expected to lead this ship. His previous battle with filth returned to his mind and he went back below, this time passing the double doors to the great cabin and descending to the hold of the ship once more. He opened the door and Syrena looked at him from her basin, drifting over to the edge closest to him.

"What has happened?" she asked, "It became so quiet up there."

"That would be Mr. Norrington laying down the law," Philip explained, "The crew will not be coming down here to disturb you, I assure you."

Syrena's eyes hinted relief as Philip sat down on the deck next to the basin, crossing his legs and resting his arms across his knees.

"Syrena, can I ask you to do something?"

She leaned over the basin's edge, "What is that?"

"I am in dire need of a bath and would like to use this basin for a few minutes. Could you take your leave for the time being?"

She cocked her head, reaching out to put her hand over his, "Having been a mermaid for so long, I no longer understand why men take such embarrassment in nakedness, but if it is what you desire, then I shall go for a swim."

Philip nodded, "I thank you, Syrena."

She began drifting back towards the entrance to the chute, then paused, "If you like, I can go retrieve some sand for you. It works wonders on the skin in the absence of soap."

Philip got up and went over to the wash basin set up next to the sea chest. It was lower to the deck so Syrena could reach it from her watery living space. He looked about it and could find no soap.

"I would be obliged if you could retrieve some sand for me," Philip accepted her offer, "I shan't be long, and I will see about my shave back in my own cabin."

Syrena nodded, "A shave?"

"Yes, I feel that is more uncomfortable to me than being dirty, what unshaven." Philip confessed.

Syrena looked down, hiding a small smile as Philip ran a hand over his jaw, "Or, if you would like, you could bring the razor down here... I could do it for you."

Philip's eyes widened, "What? I do not know..."

"I think you would like it," Syrena suggested, "It is the least I can do to thank you for carrying me through the jungle."

Philip thought for a moment then nodded, "Very well. I'll go get the razor while you fetch the sand."

Syrena smiled, this time without hiding it, then slid under the surface and shot down the cute to her underwater exit.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> I've already written the first three chapters and am working on the fourth, so my postings will be coming rather quickly for now. I extend my humble gratitude to those who have reviewed my story thus far! It is my pleasure to post this for your entertainment!


	3. Chapter 3

SCUTTLEBUTT

The sun hung high over Tortuga, unleashing the its fury on the men of the earth. It was a day such as this that veterans of a previous battle were reminded of what they had fought for. Sweat broke out across many a man's brow as they used the strength of their backs to sheet their sails home and sand the decks. They sang shanties to keep their rhythm and to break up the monotony of their work, feeling the sun on their necks and shoulders. The sign of a sailor was not only by how many knots they knew, but by how tanned and weathered their skin was. If their faces weren't ruddy with salty air and their hair bleached by the sun, then they had no right to correct another man's work.

Philip Swift had watched this mutual understanding take place between members of the crew over the past two days of their voyage to Tortuga. He now had an inkling as to what it meant to be a sailor, why these men gravitated to one another in taverns ashore, why they heckled "landsmen" so. He had only lived at sea for the better part of a month and already he had experienced and seen things that would earn him free pints if he were one to drink. What's more, with each passing day, he felt a stronger connection to the sea, a bond that he realized would be harder to break when all of this was over. The thought of becoming a sea-going missionary had crossed his mind more than once; the prospect of sailing the world for God and spreading the Good News wherever he made port was very appealing. This new-found affection also gave him an idea as to how brutal those days in the jungle had been for Syrena... whose connection to the sea was undoubtedly far stronger than the saltiest of sea dogs.

He reached up and ran a hand over his jaw, feeling the hint of sandpaper as his hair began to grow back. He could tolerate a little scruff, but nothing like the beard Syrena had shaved off of him two days ago. He was surprised that his face had stayed this smooth for so long, then concluded that Syrena's care with the cutthroat razor had been anything but normal. It was perhaps the most relaxing experience he'd had in years, to lay back in the corner of her water basin as the grime was soaked from his body, the lather applied so gently to his face and neck with the brush, the rush of relaxing adrenaline as she glided the steel blade across his cheek, the sound of his scruff succumbing to the razor's dangerously-sharpened edge. He smiled to himself as he looked past the _Providence's_ bow at the island before them.

"Might I suggest that you wear your weapons ashore?" Norrington spoke as he approached, "Though we are not embarking on some dangerous mission, in this culture, a man's character and backbone are displayed in the blade he carries."

Philip turned slightly as his first officer stood next to him, "I would say the same for any culture. Did you not wear a sword in the Navy as a sign of rank and prestige?"

Norrington nodded as he looked down at the deck, then licked his lips, looking back up at Tortuga through the rigging, "In the King's Navy, a sword is a display of your ability as an officer. If it is like the rest, then you purchased it to display your rank. If it is gilded, presented as a gift, then it is a sign that you have done something worthy of praise."

Philip glanced down at the sword on Norrington's hip, "Not unlike the one you wear?"

Norrington blinked, his eyes flicking skyward, "Yes..."

"Well then, I shall go below and retrieve my weapon," Philip stated, "I will return shortly."

"I am having colors run up," Norrington spoke after his as Philip departed, "Though we no longer bear the gold of the Royal Navy, many eyes will recognize this ship. Putting a black flag aloft will grant us safer passage into the harbor."

Philip cocked his head, "Very well, Mr. Norrington. But would that not be a ruse?"

"Would it?" Norrington asked back, "Are we a King's ship or privateer? I do not recall seeing letters of marque on your desk or scarlet-coated marines on this ship."

Philip nodded, "A good observation, now, I am going below."

Norrington turned back to the deck at large and began issuing commands as Philip descended to the gundeck, ducking under the beams overhead as sailors parted to let him pass. He made his way aft and entered the great cabin, fetching his baldrick in the sleeping cabin and putting it on over his frock coat. After sliding his spadroon into it, he looked at himself in the mirror again. Dirt and sweat no longer stained his face or clothes. His face was clean shaven and his hair had been somewhat neatly pulled back and tied at the nape of the neck with black ribbon. The collar of his shirt had been buttoned up and he now wore a simple white neckstock with plain ruffles that neatly puffed out of the unbuttoned top of his black weskit. It wasn't an overly frilled look, not like the gentry and nobility, but it was still an appearance becoming of a gentleman and a missionary. The baldrick looked a little out of place on his person, but these were new times. He grabbed the pistol belt from its peg on the wall and put it on under his frock over his weskit, tucking the excess through the belt and rolling his shoulders to adjust the fit of his clothes again. He didn't have any pistols to slide into the loops on either side of the buckle, but that didn't bother him at all. Finally, Philip grabbed his cocked hat and put it on. He rarely wore hats and if he did, it was usually a more simple wide-brimmed hat that was typical of the clergy. This hat was somewhat different from the other hats he'd seen over the past weeks. It wasn't a tricorn like Captain Sparrow's brown leather hat, nor was it a bicorn like the one he'd seen Captain Barbossa wearing at the Fountain of Youth. It was a cocked hat, not dissimilar to the tricorn but a little wider across the shoulders. He'd seen some of the newer regiments and more fashionable officers wearing military versions back home in Cornwall before he left for the Caribbean.

With a final nod in satisfaction of his appearance, he went back topside and came out onto the quarterdeck. The _Providence_ had just begun to pass through the neck in the natural harbor's mouth, no doubt attracting a lot of attention from eyes about the ships anchored nearby. Norrington stood by the starboard mizzen channel, his lens trained through the shrouds at the anchored ships.

"Either Jack Sparrow is not in port or he's lost his _Black Pearl_ again," Norrington commented, "She's not a ship that's easily missed."

"Someone is here," Philip commented, "That is is the _Queen Anne's Revenge_ just behind those two schooners."

Norrington swept his lens to the right and stopped to observe the dark galleon. She was predominantly black in color, painted a dull red along her gun ports, and had an all about weathered appearance. It was the first time Philip had gotten a good look at her since running afoul of her. When she had ambushed his ship on the passage across the Atlantic, she had taken care to hide in a fog bank. His next opportunity to see her had been that night in Whitecap Bay... the night he met Syrena. That night brought mixed emotions to him. On one hand, it was the night his life changed forever. On the other, it was the night he had stabbed her with the spadroon that now hung at his side, the night she had been captured and brutally treated.

"Strike sail!" Groves shouted, "Mr. Gillette, drop the anchor, if you please!"

The crew rushed aloft again as the _Providence_ stood closer inshore, nearing the shallower anchorages where the smaller craft were moored along the docks. The starboard anchor dropped from the bow and plunged into the water, catching on the bottom minutes later as the ship began to slow. The sails were brought in and the yards lowered, bringing the frigate to a stop in the deep water. The _Queen Anne's Revenge_ was not anchored too far away and the sight was a little strange. Philip watched the crew work as Gillette commanded them to launch one of the boats. They worked quickly and efficiently.

Belowdecks in the hold, Syrena looked up at the deck above her. The ship's momentum had slowed to a standstill, the only movement now the heave of the ship on the waves. Philip had told her they'd make Tortuga today, but she hadn't guessed it would be so soon. Though she felt far more in her element when she was swimming, she now clearly understood the advantages of sailing long distances on a ship rather than trying to swim them. She'd swum to Tortuga before, but the journey on her own had taken the better part of five days, not two. Curious to see the sights of the pirate-infested island, or at least the harbor, she squirmed over to her chute and slid down it, exiting the _Providence's_ hull and gracefully arcing around from the stern. The waters were a little clearer than those off Whitecap Bay, meaning she might have to swim a little deeper if she wanted to avoid attracting any attention. The last thing she wanted to do now was send all of Tortuga into a frenzy over a mermaid sighting in the harbor.

A dark shadow appeared over the water above her and a boat's underside suddenly broke the water's surface. Ripples fanned out from the gunwales and dissipated in the water. After a few minutes, the boat rocked and bobbed as men got into it. Syrena wanted to float to the surface and see Philip, but she didn't think the crew would take that too well. He'd told her that the crew officially knew she was aboard ship, but she hadn't made herself plainly seen and she feared how they would react despite the rules that Norrington had laid down earlier. The water around the boat suddenly broke apart as the crew put their oars down, pulling little streams of bubbles down that trickled back up from the blades. The sunlight stabbed down into the depths like a dozen knives between the oars, making the sight all the more interesting. It was not unlike that night at Whitecap Bay, when the lighthouse had put a spotlight on the boat the men had used as bait. Syrena remembered that sight so well, how she had swum up out of curiosity, how her investigation had attracted the other mermaids. When the others surfaced and began to lure the men to their deaths, she had remained below, watching sadly. She had only wanted to pop up and see them, but the lore about her kind meant to do so would incite either lustful or violent responses from the men. When she thought about it, she realized that Philip had been in that boat. Now his actions made sense. She had seen him, trying to stay out of the debacle, the Cross about his neck, and pulled him to safety when the lighthouse exploded. He had been in the right to stab her, it was self-defense on his part.

The boat started to glide across the surface as the oars swept back, stirring the water with graceful and precise unison. Syrena flexed her tail, gliding along under the boat as cover. Nobody would be able to see her under the boat in its shadow. She turned over on her belly and looked down, barely making out the seabed of the harbor. It was like any other, covered with sea grass, rocks, and the occasional bit of coral. Little fish drifted about in their schools and other creatures such as crabs and starfish went about their lazy business. There were foreign objects, man-made objects. Old encrusted anchors, barrel rings, crab traps, and even miscellaneous items such as a dropped sword or two laid in the sand.

Syrena looked back up and saw the pilings of the docks emerging out of the murk in front of her, noting how they were green with algae. She darted from under the boat to under the docks, noting how the sun shined down in sheets between the cracks in the dock's planking. Carefully as to not make too much noise, she broke the surface; there was just enough clearance for her to come up to her shoulders without hitting her head on the dock above her. Silently, she bobbed in the water under the dock as she watched the boat coast in, bump against the pilings, and rock as the men got out. She peered up through the cracks, trying to catch a glimpse of them as they clomped overhead. She barely spotted Philip as he walked over her, his head looking about as he took in the sights. Syrena drifted over to one of the pilings and sank down, leaving just her eyes above the surface. She scanned the harbor from under the docks and remembered the last time she had seen it. Tortuga had barely changed; it was still bustling with activity, populated with European-style buildings made of plaster and wooden framework. The waterfront had changed; the last time she had visited, it was little more than a broad sandy beach with wooden piers jutting out. Now, there was a seawall made of cobblestone with stone jetties. The wooden pier she hid under was now one of the older structures in the harbor, most likely soon to be scrapped for a newer structure of stone and mortar.

That's when she felt it, a delicate hand not unlike her own taking her wrist and pulling her down beneath the surface, bringing her face to face with a green-tailed mermaid.

* * *

><p>Philip looked about the dirty streets, noting the number of eyes that looked him up and down as he passed. He surely looked like no other on the entire island in his state of dress. The looks of others were rude, wary, and undoubtedly intrigued. To them, he could be a number of things; a privateer fed up with his contract, a smuggler, a merchant looking for an illegal deal, perhaps even an agent of the Crown looking to hire someone free of international law. What's more, he knew Groves' presence next to him was confusing, what wearing a black and gray version of a Royal Navy uniform.<p>

"Where are we going?" Philip asked Groves.

"Mr. Norrington suggested that we try the taverns first, but not to rule out... _other_ locations." he reported.

"Other locations?" Philip queried.

Groves tightened his lips, "Brothels, sir."

Philip nodded and gestured towards one of the buildings. It looked rowdier than the rest, the sign of a tavern.

"That one? The _Sodden Pilot_?" Philip suggested.

Groves nodded and they made for the front door. Philip caught a glance of a man he knew from the _Queen Anne's Revenge_ and bumped Groves' arm with his own.

"That one, he's familiar." Philip murmured.

The two stepped inside and looked about. The room was dimly lit in the orange glow of candles and the fireplace at the far end. Smoke hung in the air from the many clay pipes that puffed in the mouths of lounging pirates, many of witch were playing cards or shooting dice.

The two finer dressed men picked their way through the chaos near the entrance of the tavern where the more drunken sailors reviled, approaching the counter over which the tavern keeper resided. He was an old and frail looking man with a gnarled white beard and eyebrows that were in dire need of a trim.

"The finer establishments are on the other side of town," the old man grumbled, "unless you're looking to step down a notch."

"We're looking for Jack Sparrow." Philip replied, placing a hand on the counter.

The bartender sniffed, pulling at his beard before reaching under the bar. He pulled out a double barreled pocket pistol and set it down on the counter with a thud.

"When you find that bugger, send him my way..." the tavern keeper growled, "... he owes me two guineas and if he don't have them when he walks in, I'll give him two of somethin' else... and it ain't money."

Philip and Groves nodded as the tavern keeper tapped the pistol with his fingers and pulled it back under the counter.

"Now, what can I get ye two gents?" he asked, "Seein' as you can help me settle an old debt, this one's on the house."

"We're not here for drinks." Philip answered with a crisp nod, "Do you know anyone else who might know where he is?"

"Nobody knows where that bugger gone run off to," the tavern keeper spat, "He's always teeter-tottering around in here babblin' about some quest or whatnot... then he vanishes for months."

"When was the last time you saw him?" Groves asked.

"Last time I saw him, he was lookin' for a ship to England... something about a man claiming his identity and the Fountain of Youth."

Philip and Groves looked to one another, realizing that he hadn't been here since departing on the expedition. The tavern keeper knew nothing more that could help them.

"Thank you." Philip bowed his head.

"You still got a free one on the house," the tavern keeper remarked as they turned to leave, "I'd like it if you took it... a gesture of future intentions, so to speak."

Philip looked back over his shoulder, "What might those intentions be?"

"You're lookin for Jack Sparrow, aye?" the old man spoke, "I want you to bring him to me... I want my two guineas and I know he's got it."

Groves shot Philip a glance as he stepped back to the bar, "I'll take them both. The Captain here isn't a drinking man."

"What kind of ship's captain don't drink?" the tavern keeper asked with a smirk.

"What kind of missionary becomes a ship's captain?" another voice asked.

Philip looked up the stairs as Captain Barbossa clomped down them, dressed in a manner that appeared more like his character. He threw his very wide-brimmed hat up on his head and smirked.

"Captain Barbossa..." Philip responded, "I'm sure you know where Jack Sparrow is?"

Barbossa looked down with a toothy grin as he descended the rest of the stars and crutched over to them. He pulled at his scraggly beard and looked up at him with a gleam in his eye.

"I'm a-feared not, Clergyman," Barbossa replied, "The last I saw of him, he was standing on the island, a bottled ship in hand and Mr. Gibbs next to him. Now... how in the blazes did ye manage to survive and get off that island... as a ship's captain at that?"

Philip cocked his head wryly, "God gave me a second chance. So did William Turner."

"Captain _Turner_?" Barbossa asked, his eyes lighting up as it made sense, "And that explains you then, Mr. Groves?"

Groves nodded and Barbossa arched a brow, "Well, if I were Jack Sparrow, I'd be lookin' for something to free my beloved _Pearl_ from the bottle she's in. You search for that... and you'll find Jack Sparrow."

"You will not join us?" Philip asked.

"Nay... what reason do I have to find Jack Sparrow?" Barbossa asked crisply, "I have all I'd want right here."

"You took the _Queen Anne's Revenge_, didn't you?" Philip connected the dots.

Barbossa nodded with a sly smile and laughed, "I had to take some form of payment for losin' me leg to Blackbeard. I think his sword and ship be sufficient repayment."

"Captain Sparrow owes you nothing then?" Philip questioned, "He seems to own everyone something around here."

"Only unfulfilled promises," Barbossa mused, "but I think captaincy of the _Queen Anne's Revenge_ be better than any squadron Jack Sparrow could provide."

"Squadron?" Groves asked.

"Aye, he promised to help me take your _Dauntless_," Barbossa explained, "back on the Isla de Muerta... and he promised to sail under me, the makings of my very own fleet."

Groves arched a brow as he recalled the past.

"Then why not hold the man to his word?" Philip suggested, hoping his plan would work, "Why not strive to have your own fleet with the _Queen Anne's Revenge_ as your flagship?"

Barbossa blinked, "As much as your proposition tickles my fancy, I hardly think two ships constitutes a fleet."

"How about three?" Philip shot back, "I am willing to sail under your flag."

Barbossa squinted at Philip, "What's your gambit, boy?"

"I have no gambit, but the Devil does..." Philip replied.

Barbossa cocked his head, eyeing Philip warily before gesturing towards the door, "Outside."

The three of them exited the tavern, but not before Barbossa tossed two guineas on the counter for the old tavern keeper. Once back out in the Caribbean sun, Barbossa turned to Philip.

"Something happened to ye on that island and I want to know." Barbossa snapped.

Philip licked his lips, looking about at the others in the street as they passed by, going about their drunken business.

"God has many ways of executing His plan..." Philip began, "He turned me from death's door through the kiss of a loving mermaid."

Barbossa's eyes widened and Philip knew he had taken it to heart. Barbossa was a pirate's pirate, the embodiment of all scallywags and sea dogs. He knew the legends and took them seriously. He'd even been a legend once himself; Philip recalled Jack telling of the curse of the Aztec gold.

"After she saved my life, she called the _Flying Dutchman_ and Captain Turner raised the _Providence_, naming me Captain," Philip explained further, "There are dark forces at work, Captain Barbossa, and we have to respond."

Barbossa crutched up to Philip, clapping a hand on his shoulder, "What manner of dark forces be these?"

"An armada... raised from the depths," Philip replied, "Commanded by a man who can't be read, one who entertains both good and evil. He will be the Devil's instrument."

Barbossa looked down at the ground, then began crutching off down the street.

"Where are you going?" Philip called after him.

"To find Jack Sparrow!" Barbossa called back, "Now move along, Captain... we sail on the tide!"

* * *

><p>Syrena broke the water's surface, looking about the cave at the other mermaids. They lounged about the rocks, watching her as she followed the one who had found her. They had swum to the bottom of the harbor, down a crack in the rocks at the entrance where the cliffs were the tallest. She had swum down, further into the blackness than she had thought possible, then turned back up and entered an underwater cave. It was dimly lit by the glow of the deep sea fish that lived in the cave, feeding off of what the other mermaids brought in for them.<p>

"You will wait here." the green-tailed mermaid said in basic English.

Syrena bobbed up and down, watching the other swim around a corner. She could hear the Prussian accent in her voice and wondered how she had come to the Caribbean. Each mermaid Syrena met made her think, made her wonder how they had died and if it had been as slow and painful as hers.

The green-tailed mermaid came back around the corner with another mermaid in tow. She was a blue tail, the color of a leader. The green-tailed warrior mermaid drifted back, running a hand through her blonde hair as the leader approached Syrena.

"Welcome to Tortuga, sister." she greeted Syrena. Her voice was a little deeper, more "sultry" for luring men to her. She had black hair and gray eyes that seemed to see right into her, making Syrena want to disappear.

"Where are you from?" she asked.

"Whitecap Bay." Syrena replied quietly.

Some of the other mermaids turned to look at her, brows arched in impressed expressions.

"Whitecap Bay? You serve Tamara?"

Syrena nodded, "Yes."

"What news do you bring?" the leader asked further, "I am Lamia, by the way."

Syrena looked at her for a moment, not knowing what to say. She was just a servant mermaid. She didn't know anything. What's more, she did not entertain the corruption of the mermaids' original duty. She had to think of something... something to get herself out of that cave.

"Men came... to Whitecap Bay," Syrena reported, "They had come for the Fountain of Youth and set a trap to catch one of us."

"Are our Whitecap Bay sisters alright?" Lamia asked earnestly.

"Most of us. When we tried to lure them in... they attacked us. Several sisters were killed," Syrena continued, "In revenge, we wrecked their ship on the shoals."

"I will send a liaison with you," Lamia decreed, "Alexandra, you will go."

Another green-tailed mermaid with flowing red hair slid down from the rocks, approaching them with her head bowed.

"The tides of change are coming," Lamia exclaimed, "when man shall be no more."

Syrena was horrified. She didn't know what Lamia meant by that statement, but something terrible as afoot and she felt it had something to do with what Captain Turner had said.

"What will happen?" she asked, doing her best to mask her timidness.

"The Sirens are coming," Lamia said with a devilish smile, "and with the help of the Armada of the Damned, these men who ply our waters will have no chance."

Syrena nodded, "I see..."

"They won't realize their mistake until it is too late!" Lamia giggled, "He's too crafty for them."

"Who?"

"For a courier mermaid, you are poorly informed," Lamia mused, "Bartholomew Roberts!"

Syrena paused. She had heard that name before. Where and when, she wasn't sure, but something was wrong.

"Of course," Syrena exclaimed, "Tamara will be most thankful for your assistance, sister Lamia. Now, I will be on my way."

Lamia bowed her head, "May your return journey be swift and without danger, young courier. Good luck!"

Syrena turned and ducked under the water's surface, swimming back to the entrance of the cave with Alexandra in tow. The two of them drifted down the entrance, back into the darkness from which they had come. After they had reemerged from the crack at the bottom of the harbor, they discretely drifted to the surface.

"I took passage on that ship over there," Syrena pointed, "Her underside is slick, but it's easy enough to hold on."

Alexandra nodded, "Right. Let's go."

The two mermaids dipped back under the surface and darted through the water, crossing the harbor with ease. They passed under the many hulls of the ships at anchor, weaving through the anchor cables and parting schools of fish. When they arrived at the _Providence_, Syrena wondered what to do next. She wanted to go back inside to her cabin, but now she had one of Lamia's soldiers with her.

Alexandra had already found it. She pointed to the hole in the _Providence's_ hull and beckoned for Syrena to follow, drifting up the chute to the basin inside. When they broke the surface, Alexandra looked to Syrena.

"What is this?" she asked.

Syrena tried to play it off, "I don't know."

Suddenly, they felt the ship begin to heave harder to one side, a sign that the ship's sails had been set and she was catching the wind.

"Sister, don't lie to me. What is this?" Alexandra asked firmly.

Then the door opened and Philip Swift stepped in. Alexandra's eyes widened and she moved for the chute, but Syrena blocked her path.

"You're with a _man_?" Alexandra asked in disgust, "You traitor!"

"He saved my life!" Syrena answered fervently, "When the other men wished to kill me, he protected me. When I was taken ashore for the Profane Ritual, he carried me because I could not walk."

Alexandra hissed at Philip as he approached and Syrena continued.

"Philip is _different_. He is a Christian. His intentions are not like other men."

Alexandra's brow arched, "_Philip_? Surely you jest! A mermaid would never get that close to a man."

Syrena's brow furrowed in sadness, "I do not! Sister Alexandra, I _love_ him!"

Alexandra's mouth opened in shock and she looked back at Philip, who had sat on his haunches next to the basin.

"I cannot force you... if you choose, you may leave, but I ask you to consider helping us."

Alexandra shook her head, "Never."

Syrena moved aside to let Alexandra through, but the other did not move.

"How could you fall in love with a man? How could you help him? How could you even entertain the thought of asking me to help a man?" Alexandra asked in anger.

"Do not forget our original duty, Alexandra." Syrena answered.

"Do not forget which side is winning." Alexandra spat back.

"Do not forget which side will win in the end." Syrena countered.

Alexandra fell silent, looking at the water as Philip stood.

"She's right. Have you read the Bible?" he asked.

"That was over a hundred years ago." Alexandra hissed at the man.

The green-tailed mermaid darted down the chute and vanished, leaving Philip alone with Syrena.

"Who was that?" he asked as he sat down again.

"I was out exploring the harbor," Syrena explained, "when one of them found me and brought them to their cave. The shanty Captain Turner spoke of? More is coming true. The Sirens are plotting to raise an Armada of the Damned... captained by a man named Bartholomew Roberts."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> When I write, I often pick an actor or actress that closely resembles how I envision an original character. As such, I would like to share my imagination with you. I have concluded that were this story to make it to the big screen, Lamia would be played by Louise Cliffe (she has a perfect look - those eyes are pretty cold) and Alexandra would be played by Lily Cole. Never mind their acting ability or previous work, this is what I envision these characters as _looking like_. I hope you like my choices! Do a little research on Bartholomew Roberts while I complete chapter four and let's see what you think he'll look like. I've already picked someone to play him but I'm interested in what you all think of!


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note:** Huzzah! Chapter four is finished! I hope you enjoy it! Now, we're meeting some new characters here and I would like to share my cast with you. I have chosen Toby Stephens to play the part of Bartholomew Roberts and, as per missfervent's suggestion, cast Mark Strong in the story, albeit as Roberts' first mate - Judas Steele. Buckley, Roberts' boatswain, is played by Sean Gilder. Remember Norrington's coxswain aboard HMS _Dauntless_? The man who informed them that Sparrow had disabled the rudder chains? That, ladies and gentlemen, is Carlton Rogers. He looks like a classic sailor, what with the long braid down his back, the short jacket, trousers, and shoes without hose. So I brought him back in this story! People are not the only characters I cast. Ships are as important as the men who sail them, so I have picked the replica ship _Götheborg_ to play the part of Roberts' _Royal Fortune_. She is the closest to Roberts' flagship in both design and tonnage, so I think it's a good match!

* * *

><p>DEALING WITH THE DEVIL<p>

The deck was silent as the crew knelt before the quarterdeck, their uncovered heads bowed in reverence. The rigging hummed in the wind, the reefed sails billowed, and the black flag at the stern cracked in the breeze. It was an ominous flag; a man stood on the left, his arm raised as he shared an hourglass with a skeleton on the right. The deck creaked as the ship heaved on the swells of the open ocean, the sun casting shadows that moved to and fro as the ship rolled about.

"Our Father, which art in Heaven, hallowed be Thy name. Thy Kingdom come, Thy will be done, on earth as it is in Heaven," the crew prayed in unison, "Give us this day our daily bread. And forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us. And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil. For thine is the Kingdom, the power, and the glory, for ever and ever."

"Amen." another voice spoke out as the crew looked up. Some crossed themselves as the voice continued.

"That concludes this Sabbath's worship," the man addressed the men, "Return to your work and let fly the tops and gallants."

The crew dispersed about the deck as the man on the quarterdeck shut his Bible and turned to go below.

"Captain, my calculations put us a day from Shipwreck Cove," a man in a predominantly brown attire reported, "so long as the winds remain favorable."

Captain Bartholomew Roberts nodded as his boatswain shut his ledger and waited in silence. He was an impressive sight, the Captain. He wore a single breasted frock of crimson cloth with gold tape trimming his bucket cuffs, pocket flaps, and collar. Each of his buttonholes were embroidered with gold thread and his skirts were edged with gold lace. Beneath this frock he wore a black brocade weskit and a gold silk sash was wrapped about his waist. His shirt was of fine material with intricate lace frills on his cuffs and collar, which suited his posture and demeanor quite well. He wore black breeches with black hose and shoes; the buttons on his breeches and his shoe buckles were of brass. The man's naturally dark hair was sandy from both powder and the sun. It was rolled into neat curls above his ears and was pulled back and clubbed with a broad black ribbon. Atop his head he wore the finest tricorn money could buy. The felt material had a soft shine to it when the sun caught it and the edges were decorated with gold lace. On the left fold was a black cockade, pinned with a brass button. A large red feather, no doubt plucked from the tail of a parrot, had been tucked into the top over the cockade, which added a little more flair to his overall appearance.

"While that is an acceptable calculation, I do not want to make Shipwreck Cove on the morrow," Roberts mused, clasping his hands behind his back, "I should like to make port _tonight_, Mr. Buckley. There isn't much time to waste."

"I'll have the courses and stays set then," Roberts' first mate announced as he strode past.

Roberts nodded in approval, "Very good, Mr. Steele. Signal the _Sea King_ and send her ahead to scout. Knowing the enemy, he'll start moving his pieces soon."

Judas Steele nodded and turned to the deck, "Let fly the courses and stays! Quickly now, or you'll kiss the gunner's daughter!"

Those not already aloft scrambled up the shrouds, knowing that the first mate's threat carried as much legitimacy as it sounded. The bows of the ship began to smash through the waves, dashing spray up her sides as she harnessed the power of the wind. The wake streamed astern, a guide to the hundreds of other ships that followed her.

Steele watched this from the quarterdeck, his arms folded across his chest and his head slightly cocked. He was a large man with a strong jaw and hawkish nose, whose glaring eyes darted about as he monitored every soul on deck. His garb was predominantly dark, comprised of a charcoal gray frock with black felt lapels and turnback cuffs. It was a rather military look, a reminder that he was the enforcer of discipline aboard this ship. Underneath his frock was a black weskit and a red frilled shirt, which was worn neatly with a matching red lace neckstock. His breeches were charcoal gray like his coat and he wore bucket top boots, but his appearance was completed by a black leather baldrick and a black tricorn without trim. His dark hair was tucked back behind his ears and fell loosely to his shoulders, which went well with his long thick sideburns. Like his captain, his face was void of any other facial hair.

"Mr. Steele, I am going below," Roberts spoke as he made for the companionway, "The deck is yours."

Steele nodded as Roberts left the deck, "Aye, Captain."

* * *

><p>The sun sank lower in the sky, painting the clouds with the most vibrant shades of yellow, orange, red, and purple imaginable. The glittering waters of the Caribbean called to him, but there was no way for him to answer. He had a ship, but no way to get aboard it... not unless he could fit himself into a bottle.<p>

Captain Jack Sparrow sat in the sand, his tweed frock removed and tossed over the log of driftwood against which he leaned. His brown leather hat sat on his knee and his boots stood nearby in the sand. The baldrick in which his tarnished sword was sheathed hung from a gnarled branch on the log.

"Lookin' at her ain't gonna get her back, Jack." Gibbs remarked as he came over with an armful of sticks.

"Oh, I have her back," he replied, "It's just a matter of taking her from her... smallish state... and returning her to her hugeish state."

He held the bottle up and lined the _Black Pearl_ up with the horizon, squinting as the sun silhouetted it. For a moment it looked almost real; the sun was so bright that it hid the glass of the bottle. Then he remembered that it _was_ real, just... tiny.

Gibbs tossed the sticks into the fire they had made and flopped down in the sand next to Jack, stretching his legs out in front of him. For a moment the two of them reclined in silence, then Jack carefully sat the bottle down on the sand between his feet and stared up at the coming night, his mouth open as he drank in the air.

"You know..." Jack drawled, "as much as I appreciate your company, Mr. Gibbs, my stay here looks bleaker than my past desert island experiences... as there is not a drop of rum."

Gibbs chuckled as he sat up, "Ships aren't the only things I have bottles of in this bag, Jack."

He pulled the sack over and delved into it, producing a dirty bottle with a short neck containing the bronze liquid. He grabbed the cork with his teeth and spat it in the sand, then brought the bottle to his lips for a swig. Before any of the rum could leave the bottle, it vanished from his hands.

"Good man, Mr. Gibbs!" Jack praised as he tipped the bottle back and gulped from it, "I knew I could count on you."

Gibbs stared at his empty hand for a moment then blinked and looked to Jack, "What's your plan, Jack?"

"Well," Jack began, holding his hands out in front of him as if he were beholding something, "we climb back aboard the _Pearl_, sail to Tortuga, pick up a crew, then begin searching for the _Whydah Gally_."

Gibbs squinted as he listened, then shook his head slightly, "That sounds mighty lucrative, Cap'n, but there seems to be one... _little_ obstacle you're forgettin'."

Jack looked to Gibbs in confusion, then frowned as he made the connection, "Oh..."

Gibbs shook his head and laid back, folding his arms across his chest and closing his eyes. Jack continued to eye the horizon, swirling the rum about in the bottle pinched between his fingers. Then the bottle froze as an idea came to him, a small smile creeping onto his face. He looked at it, then tipped it back and gulped it until he dropped.

When Jack woke again it was dark. The sun had set but its glow still lingered on the horizon. He opened his eyes and looked up into the sky, looking at the millions of stars. It was then that he noticed the black void where the stars did not shine... because there was a man standing over him. The boot tapped his leg again and Jack stretched, sitting up slowly and looking over at Gibbs. He slept on his back, his mouth hanging open.

"Mr. Gibbs, we have...a..." Jack looked back up to the man standing over them, "...visitor?"

Gibbs murmured and rolled over, continuing to snore until Jack reached over and punched him in the arm. Gibbs started and sat up, peering at the shadow.

"Who are you and what are you doing here?" the shadow asked.

Jack looked down the beach and noticed a boat with men standing about. They carried torches and looked rough. They weren't traders or the Navy.

"I am Captain Jack Sparrow and I've been marooned here." Jack introduced himself.

The shadow sat on his haunches next to him in the sand, remaining enshrouded in darkness as the fire Gibbs had built silhouetted him.

"Captain? The only ship I see around here is the _Royal Fortune_."

Jack slowly reached down between his feet and picked up the bottled _Pearl_, holding it close to him as the shadow chuckled.

"Blackbeard, aye?" he asked.

"Now it is _my_ turn to ask the question; who are you and what are you doing here?" Jack asked back.

The shadow stood, "My name is Judas Steele... first mate of the _Royal Fortune_."

"Well, Mr. Steele, first mate of the _Royal Fortune_," Jack replied, "I would be much obliged if you either take us to Tortuga or leave us alone."

Steele stepped back, "We're headed to Shipwreck Cove, so I will take my leave then."

Jack stood, "Wait!"

Steele stopped and put up his arms, "Yes, Captain?"

"I _could_ go to Shipwreck Cove," Jack mused almost sheepishly.

Steele bowed his head, "Then welcome aboard."

Jack turned and tapped Gibbs with his boot, "Mr. Gibbs! We are leaving! Grab our bag!"

Gibbs hopped up and snatched the bag of bottled ships, tossing them over his shoulder as Jack collected his gear and put it on. They followed Steele down the beach towards the boat and Steele looked over his shoulder.

"How are you going to get that ship out of its bottle, Captain?" he questioned.

Jack held the bottle closer to him, "I don't know... yet..."

"And what if I told you I know someone who can do it?"

Jack furrowed his brow, "What?"

They reached the boat and Steele finally became visible in the light of the torches.

"I know someone who can get your ship out of that bottle, Captain." he explained.

"Oh? Is that so?" Jack cocked his head, "Well, if that is the case, then I am rather inclined to speak with him."

Steele flashed a toothy grin, "Great! Come along now."

The three got into the boat as the crew doused the torches in the surf and took their stations, shoving off and drifting out into the shallows. The men picked up their oars and ran them out, pulling hard and propelling the boat through the breakers. Spray shot up as a wave rolled into the bow of the boat, splitting as the men conquered it.

"What line of work are you in, Mr. Sparrow?" Steele asked.

"Seeing as I asked for passage to Tortuga and agreed to go with you to Shipwreck Cove, I imagine the same as yours." Jack rattled off.

Steele nodded with a small smile, "Yes... a life of freedom and plunder, aye?"

Jack nodded with a small smile of his own, "Aye!"

"It seems our finding you does not come by chance then," Steele mused, "You're just the kind of man he's looking for."

"Who is he?" Jack asked.

Gibbs shifted his weight and looked out at the ship they rowed towards. She was an impressively large vessel, larger than the _Black Pearl_ and certainly better armed. He didn't need to count to see that she carried around fifty guns. She had two whole decks of them. The only ships that could outgun her flew naval ensigns.

"Captain Bartholomew Roberts." Steele informed Jack.

"Black Bart? Old Black Bart is your captain?" Jack exclaimed with a smile, "Black Bart and I go way back!"

Steele cocked his head with a grin, "Is that so?"

"We heckled Nassau together!" Jack recollected, "He blockaded the harbor and I stole ashore, posing as a missionary to gain access to the fort. I locked the commandant in his closet and we took the whole port without firing a single shot!"

Steele chuckled gruffly, "Well, I am quite surprised! I look forward to sailing with you, Captain Sparrow!"

The boat touched alongside the _Royal Fortune's_ hull and Steele climbed out. Jack followed and Gibbs stood in the rocking boat, eyeing the climb with an arched brow.

"And how do you suppose I climb aboard with this?" he asked, picking up the bag.

Steele paused and looked over his shoulder, then up at the rail. He whistled and a man looked over.

"Send a hook down for that man's bag! Careful, lest you break anything... I don't want to break you!" Steele called.

The man nodded quickly and vanished as Jack and Steele continued their ascent, clambering through the entry port and onto the ship's afterdeck. Steele waved the men off to their stations as they approached for orders, turning up the stairs to the raised quarterdeck overlooking the ship's waist.

"I send you ashore to investigate a fire in the night and you bring me Jack Sparrow!" Roberts exclaimed from the quarterdeck, "Good evening, Jack! How have you fared all these years?"

"That would be _Captain_ Jack Sparrow." Jack replied crisply.

"Ah, please do forgive me, Captain!" Roberts replied with a sweeping bow, "It's been too long."

The two approached one another and shook hands with grins on their faces. Then Roberts looked down and saw the bottled ship clutched against Jack's chest.

"Blackbeard, eh?" Roberts mused with an arched brow.

Jack gave a quick sheepish grin and gestured with his arms, "Mr. Steele down yonder says someone can help me spring my ship from her bottle. Do you happen to know who that is?"

Roberts nodded with a polite smile, "That would be me, Jack."

Jack's mouth opened, his head cocking to the side, "Oh?"

Roberts chuckled, "Hand her over."

Jack eyed him for a moment, then warily handed him the bottle. Roberts took it and held it up in the lantern light.

"Still sailing the _Pearl_? Isn't she a bit old?" he asked.

"You remember me," Jack answered, "I'm sentimental."

Roberts smirked, "Of course. Well, I can free her Jack... but that will come with a cost..."

"Name your price, mate!" Jack exclaimed.

"I will free your _Black Pearl_ from this bottle," Roberts spoke, "under the condition that you help me obtain something."

"What is this something that needs obtaining?" Jack asked.

"A sword," Roberts replied, "a sword that is thought to no longer exist... one that I know you've held."

Jack thought for a moment, a finger to his lips, "Ah ha! That one!"

Roberts smiled, "Yes, you know what I speak of."

"Very well," Jack agreed, "I will help you procure it, but only after I stand aboard my beloved _Pearl_ again."

Roberts nodded, "Agreed."

The _Royal Fortune's_ captain took the bottle and hit the neck on the rail, breaking it off and sending shards of glass across the deck. Then he threw the bottle overboard and looked back to Jack, his arms folded across his chest. Jack ran to the rail and looked over it, a horrified expression on his face.

"You can't do that!" Jack exclaimed, "I said I had to be standing aboard her!"

Roberts nodded and pointed, "Patience, Jack."

The sea off the _Royal Fortune's_ starboard side began to dance angrily, foam capping the crests. The crew wandered to the rail, watching the spectacle with wonder as Roberts grinned broadly. His plan was neatly coming together out of the unlikeliest of circumstances. He looked up to the sky with a fiendish look and whispered to himself.

"It's my turn now. The seas be ours and by my powers... where we will, we'll roam..."

Jack peered at the frothing water, his eyes widening as he saw the _Pearl_ pitching about in it. She couldn't be more than ten feet from bow to stern, but then realized that that length was changing as she rapidly grew. Gibbs looked up at Jack from where he stood, his mouth hanging open in awe. The _Black Pearl_ finally reached her normal size, rocking less violently as the seas calmed once more and Jack turned to Roberts.

"She's... hugeish." Jack breathed.

"Aye," Roberts nodded, "your ship awaits you, _Captain_ Jack Sparrow! Now, what is our destination?"

"I was under the impression that we were going to Shipwreck Cove?" Jack asked back.

"A change in priorities, Jack," Roberts explained, "We'll sail for Shipwreck Cove _after_ you've upheld your end of the deal."

"Then we go to Charles Town, in the Southern of the Carolinas." Jack said with a smile.

* * *

><p>Theodore Groves leaned over the chart, his fingers tracing the coastline as Gillette straightened up and looked to Philip.<p>

"While Charles Town is a port frequently raided by pirates, I am still not sure as to why we are starting our search there." he mused.

Norrington nodded at the map, "Charles Town fell prey to Blackbeard for nearly a week some years ago. Rumor has it that his blockade wasn't the first time he'd been there. His refuge from the Crown or a favored hunting ground, I do not know, but his legacy dwells there."

Gillette nodded as Philip stroked his chin in thought, "Where do you suggest we start looking?"

Norrington bent over the table and tapped a spot with his finger, "Here, eight miles to the South at Charles Town Bar. He moored his ships behind it for protection from the Navy, then he would shadow ships coming from the Caribbean and seize them as they tried to enter the harbor."

Philip nodded in approval, "I trust your expertise, Mr. Norrington. We'll start there."

The four stood straight again as Groves rolled the map up and tucked it under his arm.

"Now, what of this Captain Roberts Syrena speaks of?" Philip asked them.

"He was the most successful pirate ever to live," Groves informed him, "leaving a rather profitable life as a trader to capture nearly half a thousand ships."

"Half a thousand?" Philip asked in surprise.

"Some four hundred seventy vessels, to be exact," Norrington added, "The largest of which was an ex-French warship mounting over fifty guns."

Groves nodded as Gillette piped in, "He was an odd sort; while his record-breaking prizes suggest a life of cold-blooded murder, he took care to hold services on the Sabbath."

Philip arched a brow, "Captain Roberts was a God-fearing man?"

"As sure as day," Gillette continued, "Reports say he owned more Bibles than he did ships... distributing them to one and all."

"Don't let the Bible in his hand fool ya," the _Providence's_ coxswain warned from his station by the wheel, "He had a black heart sure enough."

Philip gestured for him to come over, "Your name?"

"Rogers, sir, Carlton Rogers," he introduced himself as he left the wheel to his mate, "I've seen with mine own eyes what Roberts was capable of; I was a cox'n for the John Company before I took the King's shilling in the Azores."

"Well, what have you seen, Mr. Rogers?" Groves asked.

"Captain Roberts usually prowled the trade routes coming from and going to Europe," Rogers started, "to pillage the finished goods coming from England and the Caribbean. On occasion, he would strike on the trans-Atlantic leg, seeing as slavers were often large ships and the Africans could be recruited to man them."

Philip and the three officers had fallen silent as Rogers licked his lips, blinking as he tried to find an easy to say what was coming next.

"My ship had put out of the Ivory Coast when we came across a ship Roberts had taken. She was a slaver, but the Africans aboard had fallen ill with scurvy so there was no profit in it for him. He burned the ship with all three hundred souls on board it, still shackled together."

Gillette looked down at the deck as Norrington's lips tightened, "Thank you for that enlightening account, Mr. Rogers."

Rogers nodded and stepped back, a pained expression on his face, "Aye, sir."

Philip nodded, "Yes, thank you, Mr. Rogers. My suspicions have been confirmed."

The other officers looked up as Philip addressed them.

"Syrena mentioned his name, as the mermaids of Tortuga told her he was to command the Armada of the Damned."

Groves blinked, "But Bartholomew Roberts has been dead these twenty-eight years?"

"He is believed to be dead," Norrington corrected him, "We never recovered his body after the action off Cape Lopez."

Philip looked to Gillette, "Signal Barbossa and have him lay alongside."

Gillette stepped aft to the signal flag locker as Philip clasped his hands behind his back. After watching Norrington do it so much he felt that it gained some sort of attention from military men, as it was the posture they frequently adopted for briefings.

"Gentlemen, I am of the opinion that Captain Roberts is either alive or will soon be again... and he will not be an ordinary man. From what I have been told by Captain Turner and have sensed in Syrena's account of her discovery at Tortuga, we are dealing with the Devil. Do not expect this to be as simple as engaging the Spanish or French."

"And what of this... armada of the damned?" Norrington asked.

"I do not know," Philip replied honestly, "I imagine it will be in his company, but it could be hidden somewhere."

"You can't be suggesting that an entire armada can remain hidden?" Groves asked with a little surprise laced in his voice, "Even with our technological setbacks at the time, we still knew the Spanish were building an armada... it was a question of where they would strike."

"Again, I remind you," Philip warned, "we are not dealing with the Spanish."

Gillette returned and Philip looked over the rail, watching the _Queen Anne's Revenge_ as she drew closer and reduced sail to match the _Providence's_ pace. Philip walked to the rail, spreading his hands on it and looking for Barbossa on the opposing quarterdeck.

"What have you to say, Captain Swift?" Barbossa called.

"A new heading!" Philip shouted back, "To Charles Town, South Carolina!"

"What be there that merits our presence?"

"The region was frequented by Blackbeard! I'm of the opinion that Jack may be able to find a way to free the _Pearl_ there!" Philip answered.

Barbossa remained silent for a moment, conferring with one of his crewmembers briefly before nodding and looking back across, "A good suggestion, Captain! We'll alter course now!"

* * *

><p>Charles Town was a modestly splendid sight. The harbor bustled with traders and smoke lazily curled up from the chimneys of the stone houses that spanned the waterfront. The citizens milled about in their plain dress, the characteristic mark of a colonial. There weren't too many flamboyant types here as there were in Europe. It had rained recently, so the dirt streets fortunately weren't dry enough for hooves and wheels to stir dust into the air. On the downside, the rain left a humid thickness in the June air that was dreadful. Damp hair was plastered to sweaty foreheads and most went about their business without frocks. In the town, the several church steeples started tolling the hour as midday arrived. The sun was high overhead and showed no signs of relinquishing its throne for several more hours, as the days were longer this time of year.<p>

Jack Sparrow and Bartholomew Roberts walked down the stone jetty known as Smith's Quay, the _Black Pearl_ and _Royal Fortune_ moored in the bight behind them next to Marsh Island. To strangers they were an odd sight, what Roberts being so finely dressed in the company of a smaller man with dreadlocks and many trinkets jingling about his person. As the gypsy man with a braided beard carried a heavy sword, nobody so much as glanced at them disapprovingly. They knew what he was... privateer or pirate, it didn't matter. He was a lowlife of the Caribbean and Roberts, despite his distinguished appearance, displayed his profession simply by walking good-naturedly with the other man.

"So what have you been doing all these years, Jack?" Roberts asked as they left the waterfront.

"Anything and everything imaginable," Jack replied briskly, "from stopping mutinies, breaking curses, going to... and _returning from_ Davy Jones' locker, battling the _Flying Dutchman_ and the rest of the East India Company, and even finding the Fountain of Youth."

"Sounds a might busy, to be sure," Roberts commented, "You found the Fountain of Youth? You sure don't look like a man that's found it."

"A change in priorities, mate," Jack replied with a small smile, "Funny, what a woman can do to a man."

Roberts opened in a silent ah and nodded, "Love has its ways."

"Who said anything about love?" Jack asked, "Women are conniving and deceptive creatures... I'd almost say they are worse than mermaids!"

"You ran afoul of mermaids?" Roberts asked in what almost sounded like surprise.

"A whole school of them!" Jack answered with his brows raised, "Devilish fish... all save one."

"What, there was one that wasn't like the rest?" Roberts question, clearly intrigued.

They turned down another street that was lined with townhouses made of whitewashed siding with narrow front porches and tall colonnades. At the far end of the avenue was a town square lined with the shops and taverns of downtown Charles Town.

"Aye, she was different," Jack recalled, "She didn't appear to have a blood-thirsty streak in her and she, quite literally, fell in love with a clergyman in our expedition."

"She fell in love?"

"Aye."

"With a clergyman?"

"That's two for two, mate," Jack confirmed with a grin, "a good whelp, he was. Carried her through the jungle when we found she couldn't walk and Blackbeard threatened to kill her."

Roberts nodded, "I see... did she kiss him?"

Jack furrowed his brow and looked to Roberts, "I don't know! Maybe. Probably."

Roberts' mouth turned down in a quick frown, "Then it's beginning."

"What?"

"The Armada of the Damned," Roberts explained, "a shanty claims that after God's man kisses a mermaid, the Devil will raise an armada from the depths to stop good men once and for all, to maintain his control over the world and the seas."

Jack frowned, "Well, that's... bloody unfortunate. Is there anything we can do to stop it?"

"The shanty says the Devil's man can be killed with naught but the Lord's fire," Roberts continued, "Now you see why..."

"...you're looking for St. Piran's Blade," Jack murmured, "Interesting..."

"Now you see why we have to move quickly now, Jack." Roberts exclaimed, "Somewhere out there, the Devil's man lurks... no doubt trying to find the sword before we do."

"Well then, let's go get it!" Jack decreed, "Follow me!"

They continued down the street through the throngs of South Carolinians, tipping their hats and begging pardon as they fought upstream to the town's center. They crossed it to one of the inn and taverns on the opposing side, which had three stories and a pleasant view of the waterfront. It was one of the buildings made of wooden siding, painted tan with green shutters and brass furnishings. A sign hung over it with a picture of a tankard and a Crown.

They stepped inside, feeling the cool air that still hung indoors from the stone floor. The windows were open to let in fresh air and the room was well lit with natural light. It was a smaller tavern, more a place for visitors to the inn to join at table. Jack strode across to a well tailored and portly man in a gray tweed suit, who's wig seemed a little off-kilter. He seemed a little taken aback at being approached by Jack, but stood his ground and placed his hands on the counter.

"How can I help you, sir?" he asked.

"I'm lookin' for someone," Jack announced, "Where might I find Angelica Teach?"

The man squinted at Sparrow, "She hasn't been here in months; run off earlier this Spring looking for her... her father."

"So she's not at home then?" Jack asked with a little smile.

"No, shall I take your name and leave her something?"

Jack shook his head, "No, no. That's quite alright, mate. I'll just do it myself."

The inn keeper looked distraught and flicked his eyes over Jack's shoulder at Roberts, who gave him an assuring nod and cleared his throat.

"Forgive my friend here, my good man. I can vouch for him and tell you that nothing shall go awry upstairs."

The inn keeper looked Roberts up and down and finally nodded, his chins shaking as he did so. Jack put his hands together as if he were about to pray and made a short bow to the inn keeper, gesturing for Roberts to follow and clomping up the stairs to the rooms above. They ascended to a narrow hallway that was washed white and had an open window at either end. Four doors lined either side of the hall and Jack sauntered down to the last door on the right. He glanced out the window and tried the door, jerking on it a little when it didn't open.

"Locked." he said flatly.

Roberts put his fists on his hips and looked back down the hall, "Then how do you suppose we get in?"

Jack smiled, "Easy!"

He hopped up on the window sill and leaned out, looking to the right and grinning as he saw the open window on the other side of the door. Some of the people below stopped to watch the spectacle as Jack waved.

"No worries! Just locked meself out!"

Jack grabbed the right side of the window frame and swung around, his boots catching the other windowsill. He slowly reached out and grabbed the other frame, then pulled himself over and dropped into the window. Roberts coughed on the other side of the door and Jack opened it.

"Welcome to my humble home, mate!"

Roberts grinned and stepped in, looking about the room as Jack quietly shut the door again and pulled the key out of the lock. He pocketed it as Roberts approached a desk. It was covered in books and rolled up charts, dusty from months of sitting there untouched.

"The sword is in here?" Roberts asked.

"No, but a clue to its whereabouts should." Jack mused as he began rifling through a bookcase.

"You mentioned Angelica Teach downstairs... am I to suppose she is Blackbeard's own?"

Jack looked over his shoulder and nodded, "Yes, though I wouldn't call her his own... she's far too... devious."

"I can't imagine Blackbeard allowing her to connect with him." Roberts commented.

"She was played," Jack explained, "a pawn in his quest for the Fountain of Youth."

"So it wasn't your expedition?" Roberts started putting it together as he opened dresser drawers, "You were the guide?"

Jack nodded and Roberts looked at Jack's belt and gestured.

"Why don't we just use your compass then?"

Jack paused, looking down at it and back to Roberts, "I don't want the sword... you do."

"Then let me use the compass." Roberts said, shutting the dresser drawer.

"Is St. Piran's Blade what you want most in this world?" Jack asked seriously, "I know why it's important... but why is it important to you?"

"Remember the legend Jack?" Roberts answered as he approached, "The sword's blade turns to fire, white hot as if it were just taken from the smith's anvil... and only when it's held by a pure-hearted man."

"I do remember the legend," Jack cocked his head, "I even saw it turn to fire in Elizabeth Swann's... er... Elizabeth Turner's hands. Are you suggesting that you are the pure-hearted man in the shanty?"

"Perhaps. I _am_ a good man Jack." he reasoned.

"What if the pure-hearted man is the one kissed by a mermaid?" Jack posed.

There was a knock at the door and a voice outside spoke.

"Who goes there? Open this door at once."

"This is Jack Sparrow. No, I will not open this door, as this is my room. Now go away!" Jack said back.

"Regardless of who the pure-hearted man is," Roberts murmured, "we _have_ to find the sword before the Devil's man does."

Jack held up a ledger with ruffled pages and arched a brow with a smile, "Agreed. Now let's get out of here."

Roberts nodded and opened the door, jumping back as a scarlet-coated soldier nearly fell inside. The other two rushed out and Jack pulled the door shut, taking out the key and locking the door. The knob rattled and the soldier pounded on it.

"You're not supposed to be in here!" he barked through the door, "In the name of the King, I place you under arrest for trespassing!"

"But we're not in there, you are!" Jack exclaimed as he leaned out the window. The British soldier leaned out and glared at him, then looked to the street below. A small contingent of them stood in a semicircle around the front of the inn and the keeper stood outside.

"Get them and get me out of here, Corporal!" he yelled at his men.

"Right, Sergeant!" the Corporal responded as he and two others rushed through the door.

Roberts laughed as he took Jack by the shoulders, "Just like old times, Jack!"

They grinned and ran down the hall. Jack tucked the ledger into his weskit as Roberts kicked the oncoming corporal in the face and knocked him back down the stairs, then vaulted through the window onto the steep rooftop of an adjacent building. Jack followed and together they began running along the roof, looking for a good place to jump down. Roberts spotted a stack of crates next to a storage building and they hopped down, landing in the grass and trotting through the rear courtyard. They could hear the soldiers inside the inn shouting as they tried to spring their sergeant from Angelica's room. Roberts pointed and they stole through a narrow alley, stepping back out into the open of an adjacent street as if nothing were happening.

* * *

><p><strong>Historical Note:<strong> Judas Steele references "kissing the gunner's daughter" earlier in this chapter. That was a popular method of punishment in European military units during the 18th century, which entailed strapping the man being punished face down to the top of a cannon barrel, so that his lips touched the vent at the breech and his feet dangled over the front at the muzzle. The man's feet were then whipped/beaten with either a reed cane or the cat of nine tails, which would tear his flesh and smash his feet against the iron muzzle, breaking his toes. After the punishment ended, his wrists were bound together and to the gun carriage; he was left to lie under the gun until he either died or recovered enough to return to his duties.


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Note:** We have three new characters in this chapter! The first I envision as being played by Hugh Jackman, the second by Jessica White, and the third by the replica ship _Bounty_.

* * *

><p>NEW WORLDS<p>

Norrington shut his lens with a snap and looked over his shoulder, "Gillette, alter our course two points to larboard."

Gillette nodded and strode aft, "Mr. Rogers, two points to larboard, if you please."

"Two points to larboard, aye." Rogers answered, pulling down on the wheel's spokes.

Captain Philip Swift stood by the starboard rail, just aft of the fore channel with a hand up in the shrouds. The wind freshened for a moment, blowing through his hair as his eyes scanned the South Carolinian coastline. It was unlike anything he'd seen before. In Europe, the coasts were short, rocky, and usually overlooked by cliffs. In the Caribbean, coastlines were either flat with lush groves of palms broad expanses of shallows and coral reefs, or they were steep and mountainous with dense jungle. Here on the littoral waters of North America, the coastline was flat, overlooked by temperate trees with the occasional palm. Ragged undergrowth filled in the open space between tree trunks and tall yellow sea grasses buffered the gray beaches from the inland vegetation.

The _Providence_ and _Queen Anne's Revenge_ had made good time on their voyage from Tortuga, taking little more than four days. It had been somewhat uneventful despite passing right along the length of the Bahamas; only two distant sails had been sighted and both were local fishermen. Now the frigate and galleon were hugging the coastline, nosing through the deeper waters between the many sandbars that paralleled the shores of the continent. Their destination was little more than a few miles away now, according to Groves' calculations, and the ships teemed with activity as they prepared to drop anchor behind Charles Town Bar. It was a little strange to think about, what with the _Queen Anne's Revenge_ returning to her old hunting grounds without her bloodthirsty captain on the quarterdeck. Philip watched the dark galleon as she laid alongside and shortened sail, running under her tops alone. For many of the men aboard her, this was nothing new; they'd done this on numerous occasions years ago when they shadowed ill-fated merchants.

"Mr. Groves, put a party on the capstan and prepare to let go the anchor." Norrington ordered as he came aft from the bow.

Philip looked down over the rail and suppressed a smile as he saw Syrena gliding through the water next to the ship. Her coral tail caught the sun and flashed as she turned over on her back and looked up at him, giving him that heart-melting look again. It was that "nearly forlorn with affection" expression, the one where her brow furrowed and her eyes pleaded for him to come.

"I am going ahead," Syrena called up to him, "I can show you the best place to anchor."

Philip nodded, "Thank you, Syrena! We'll be right behind you!"

She smiled and turned back over, sliding under the surface and kicking ahead with a speed that only a mermaid could achieve. She held her arms out in front of her, her hands together to part the water much like a ship's bow. The sand rushed past below her, stirring as she passed right over them. She smiled to herself as she shot over a crab, wondering what it was thinking. She hoped she hadn't frightened it. The seabed dropped off as she swam past the inshore side of the sandbar, disappearing into the murk where the water was deep enough. She noticed many man-made objects, which she presumed found their way there over the years as Blackbeard moored his ships there. The thought of the man still made her skin crawl, still made her recall those days in the jungle. It was both her darkest hour and saving grace, days for which she was thankful and wished had never happened.

The moments that had changed her life still came to her as if they had happened yesterday. She remembered how she had tried to stand, her knees shaking as the pirates watched her lustfully. Then she had crumpled to the ground, her muscles weak and unused after decades in the sea. She remembered the shiver of fear that she had felt when he touched her, how it had suddenly transformed to a peace she had never felt before. It had been so startling that she hadn't known how to react, then his arms were around her, under her, picking her up and holding her close protectively. That was when she felt it, his heart beating in his Cross-adorned chest, and knew he was different from the rest.

She looked about in the haze, spotting a few fish and little else besides the trash Blackbeard's ships had left behind. She arced back up to the surface and rose to her shoulders, holding an arm up to signal the two ships approaching. She spotted a figure on the forecastle of the _Providence_ as they waved back.

The rest of the day produced little fruit. Philip and Barbossa rowed ashore to explore the coastline, looking for any clues of Blackbeard's presence. If they found the buried remains of an encampment, a chest of plunder, anything... they stood a chance of finding something that could free the _Pearl_. If they found something of that nature, then they found something that would bring Jack Sparrow right to them. Syrena joined in the search, scanning the sandy bottom of the anchorage and sorting through the countless decaying items left behind. There were buttons, buckles, swords, cannonballs, padlocks, even fine china and crystal goblets. It became quite obvious that Blackbeard looted more than he could both carry and hide away. As the sun began to sink lower in the sky, the two captains returned to their ships and made plans to sail into Charles Town harbor the next day, extending their search to the streets of the port itself. Something was there, waiting to be found. Everyone could feel it, they just didn't know what it was and where it was hidden.

Night had fallen on the two ships, enshrouding the anchorage and coast in darkness. Lanterns were the only source of light aboard the ships, as the new moon offered little light of its own. The wind had lightened considerably, enough to tease with its presence yet leave the air feeling rather still and sticky with the humidity. These conditions drove the men to shed their frocks and roll back the sleeves of their shirts; Philip and the officers of the _Providence_ had forfeited their neck cloths for open collars shortly after leaving Tortuga. The only person who remained unaffected by these conditions was Syrena, who almost enjoyed such weather. The more water in the air, the merrier.

Philip opened the door to Syrena's cabin and she looked up, the corners of her mouth turning up into a hint of a smile. She didn't need to smile for Philip to see her affection; her eyes sparkled with it.

"Good evening, Philip." she greeted him as he laid on the deck next to her basin.

"How do you swim at night?" he asked.

"What do you mean?"

"On a night such as this, when not even the moon emits light for one to see, how do you navigate the murky depths?" he asked again.

Syrena rolled onto her side to face him and reached out, tracing the side of his face with her finger, "I just follow my instinct. I normally don't go out at night."

Philip reached up and took her hand in his, "You never cease to amaze me, Syrena. With each passing day, I learn more about you, yet you remain as much a mystery as you were the day we met."

"You know all you need to know about me," she replied, leaning forward and lightly kissing his lips, "there are things you may never completely be able to understand about me; my condition is much like a man missing a limb, people cannot understand him and feel what he feels unless it happens to them too, but I can sense your respect for what you do and do not know."

Philip ran his hand down to her wrist, to her elbow, up to her shoulder, across to her neck, and then he pulled her in gently for a kiss of his own.

"Were you ever in love before you were lost at sea?" he asked.

Syrena looked into his eyes, "No. I could tell that one of my older brother's friends had interest in me, but I did not want to marry him. He was also the son of a landowner; he owned vineyards in the South of France. I wanted to marry a man I loved, not a man who had money and power."

Philip nodded in understanding, "I have never loved before. My studies and devotion to my work have taken precedence over my marital prospects. Like you, I would rather marry someone I love than someone who can bring me esteem."

Syrena's eyes twinkled as she rested her head against his, her hand on his shoulder. They shared this moment, feeling the energy of their affection for one another. Then Philip withdrew.

"Syrena," he spoke slowly, "might I... ask... you something?"

She pulled back a little to get a better look at his face, sliding her hand from his shoulder to the side of his head.

"What is it?"

"I... cannot perform such a ceremony myself..." he continued, pausing to find the right words, "... but, I have friends who are ordained... and..."

Syrena started to catch on to what he was trying to ask and her brow furrowed as she tried to bite back a smile. She wanted to cry, but not in sorrow. She felt her eyes stinging with joy.

"Yes?" she asked, her thumb tracing his jaw.

"Syrena..." he breathed, "...will you..."

A pang ran through her body and she froze, her face torn between her sudden range of emotions. She wanted to laugh, smile, hear those words... but she also felt the pain, anguish, and urgency that all mermaids felt when sailors faced death. The door to her cabin burst open and Norrington flew in.

"Captain, topside, _now_." he snapped urgently.

Philip looked to Syrena and his lips tightened. She could see both the frustration and adrenaline in his eyes as he jumped to his feet and rushed out of her cabin. Syrena turned and dove down her exit, surfacing under the _Providence's_ stern and looking about.

She didn't have to scan long before she saw it. Several miles down the sandbar was a number of little lights. Then the sounds of a ringing ship's bell and the shouts of men reached her ears.

"Something's happened down near the end of the sandbar," Norrington informed Philip, "I think a ship's run aground."

Philip followed his first officer to the taffrail and accepted a lens from Groves. He lifted it to his eye and trained it down the sandbar, spotting lights. He heard a ringing bell and shouting, prompting him to snap the lens shut.

"Gentlemen, we're going to their assistance," Philip announced, "Launch the boats and send your best men."

Norrington nodded, "Gillette, fetch some spare cordage and salvage equipment. Groves, get the boats over the side immediately."

The officers hurried off and Philip looked back out the the lights. He heard a sharp crack and the squeal of wood splintering apart.

"Philip!" Syrena's voice called.

He looked over the rail at the water below the stern. She waved to him and pointed.

"I am going to help!"

Philip waved her off, "Go! We're coming!"

Syrena nodded and dove under the surface, her arms down by her sides as she kicked as hard as she could. She stayed close enough to the surface so she could keep herself aimed at the lights, taking care to follow as close to the edge of the sandbar as she could. She felt another pang as a man died, the rest of her body tensing as she felt many lives coming under greater danger. As she drew closer to the lights she began to feel a different aura. She began to sense that this wasn't an accident, but a deliberate act. She could feel a touch of betrayal in the souls of the men that were endangered. She soon started to hear the squeaks and shuddering groans of wood, the sounds of a ship breaking apart as bulkheads collapsed and masts went by the board. It wasn't a large ship; the sounds matched something under one hundred feet in length, perhaps a brig or heavy schooner. Over the years she had learned to determine many things just by listening... a vessel's size, speed, whether it was a trading or fighting ship. It was only until recently that she had begun to learn the anatomy of ships, what a frigate was, what it meant to tack or to careen a ship. These were all things Philip taught her as he taught himself.

She broke the surface again and paused, scanning the scene ahead of her to look for any dangers. It was a schooner, her foremast down in the water in a tangled mess that pulled the ship over towards its larboard side. Her hull seemed intact but as she drifted closer she could see that it literally rested in fragments. There was shouting and moaning as the crew tried to save each other and find refuge. Unfortunately, the sandbar was too deep for the men to stand and the schooner itself was slowly succumbing to its wounds. There was another groan as the bow of the ship sank a little lower in the water, splitting from the rest of the vessel and shooting splinters into the air. Syrena looked to her left at the shore and saw the lights just as they were doused, then started to notice the dark shadow of an unlit ship sitting in the deeper waters between the sandbar and the beach.

She had seen this trick before. The hunter would stand between shoals and the coast, putting up lights to feint a harbor entrance or safe passage, luring unsuspecting prey onto the shoals. Once the victim was run aground and at the predator's mercy, the victims' ship would be looted.

Determined to perform her duty, Syrena carefully swam to the wreck, weaving through flotsam and under cordage as she looked for a man. She found one and drifted over, touching his wrist with her fingers. There was no pulse of life so she sadly moved on. She saw two thrashing about as they helped each other onto a floating section of the mast.

She was about to sing out to them to grab their attention, her plan to ask how she could help and to get them to look for others. Before she could open her mouth, a shot rang out and one of the men jerked back, holding his face as he splashed in the water. She looked to where she had seen the lights and spotted four boats, two of which were full of men armed to the teeth. They shouldered musketoons and aimed pistols, pouring lead into the wreck as they picked off anyone they saw. Syrena hid behind a floating crate and slid almost completely underwater, watching as the two boats of men rowed into the drifting wreckage. Some of the men in the bows stood and started stabbing about with pikes. The sounds of muffled screams floated through the water as men floating face-down died. The sight shocked her and Syrena realized why it was so easy for mermaids to serve the Sirens, to kill men rather than save them. She silently thanked God for Philip and his example, his display of virtue and courage to be the man God made him to be. Were it not for his love for her, she would have sided with the corrupted mermaids after seeing what was unfolding in front of her.

As the men brought up the two empty boats and started fishing cargo from the wreckage, more shouting broke out behind her as the boats from the _Providence_ arrived.

"This is Captain Swift of the _Bombay_!" a voice shouted, "Leave now before we turn our guns on you!"

Syrena rose further above the surface. What she had just heard made no sense.

"And this is Captain Swift of the _Providence_!" Philip replied, "Stand down and show some compassion for these poor souls!"

There was a moment of silence and Syrena sank back down, fearing the sound of more gunfire.

"Philip? Is that you?" the first voice asked, "What in God's name are you doing here... and a _Captain_? What happened to seminary?"

Syrena rose to her shoulders and drifted out from behind the crate, watching as the opposing ships' boats drew closer to each other. Philip's boats were lit with lanterns fixed to the bows on iron rods and she saw him standing in one of them. She swam a little closer to get a better look and saw a man standing in the opposing lead boat. He wore a navy blue coat with bucket cuffs and a folded collar. Underneath he wore a dark red weskit with black buttons and a white shirt. He wore his collar open with a ragged gray neckerchief tied about his neck loosely in lieu of a more gentlemanly neck cloth. There was a broad belt of black leather about his waist with a pair of pistols jammed through it. His breeches were of cream colored cloth and he wore black riding boots with brown leather cuffs. A black leather baldrick with an oval buckle hung over his shoulder and a hunting saber was sheathed in it. His hair was full and dark, pulled back at the nape of the neck and accented with thick sideburns that stopped just below his ears. Atop his head was a black bicorn like the one she'd seen Barbossa wear briefly, albeit without gold trim.

"Nathaniel? What are you doing?" Philip asked in shock.

Syrena's heart sank as she realized Philip had just run into his older brother, whom he had spoken of so highly before.

"After Lord Beckett was exposed, I was blacklisted because I was an honest man who knew too much!" Nathaniel replied, "The Navy can't protect me and I'll never fly the black flag, so smuggling's the best I can do!"

Syrena listened closely and heard the similarities in their voices. They both had the same Cornish accent, albeit Nathaniel's voice was a little deeper and booming.

"Regardless, killing innocent men?" Philip asked in disgust, "You could have at least wrecked them and saved them!"

"Philip, do you see the brand on this cargo? This is Company cargo. These are the only ships I target."

Syrena drifted closer, taking care not to be noticed.

"You served the Company once! Did you not stop to think that there might be other good men such as yourself still serving?" Philip nearly cried.

There was another moment of silence, the only sounds were the sea crashing into the wreck and the groan of the ship as it further fell apart.

"Philip..." Nathaniel replied, his voice cracking, "I was one of the last ones to get out alive. All my peers who I knew to be good businessmen started vanishing after Beckett!"

"So you're saying the _entire_ John Company is corrupted and in on the biggest business conspiracy in history?" Philip asked in disbelief.

"_Yes_!" Nathaniel replied simply.

Silence befell the scene again and there was a splash.

"What was that?" another man's voice yelped.

"It's a mermaid!" someone else exclaimed.

Syrena looked about and saw one of the boats burst into activity as men clambered about. Then she realized all of their attention was focused on the other side.

"There's another!"

Suddenly it became quiet.

"Syrena!" Philip called.

She glided through the water to Philip's boat, grabbing the bow's gunwale and pulling herself up. He turned and she saw the relief in his face, then he arched a brow and looked back to the other side of the boat. Some of the men looked over at her and stared, making her want to sink below and vanish, but she swam around the bow of Philip's boat to the other side.

"Who are you?" a mermaid asked in surprise.

"I am Syrena." she answered warily.

"What school are you from?"

"Whitecap Bay."

The other mermaid cocked her head, "Whitecap Bay? Last I heard you were corrupted, bent on killing men rather than saving them."

Syrena drifted back against Philip's boat. Silence had fallen over all the men in them as they watched Syrena confront the other mermaid in front of her. There were nearly a hundred others bobbing in the shallows behind her and near the smugglers' boats.

"Corrupted?" Syrena asked in confusion.

"Corrupted, yes. You are aware of the mermaid's duty?" the other answered. It was then that Syrena noticed the French accent laced in her voice.

"To sing our songs to the shipwrecked and dying," Syrena nodded, "Are you not like the schools at Whitecap Bay and Tortuga?"

The other mermaid drifted closer. She had dark African skin and black hair. Syrena could not see the color of her tail in the dark but sensed her leadership in both her voice and body language.

"We are not like most," she answered, "we hold true to our original duty."

Syrena felt excitement and relief run through her body as she heard those words. The men in the boats continued to watch in utter awe.

"My name is Nia, leader of the Charles Town mermaids," she introduced herself, "and I am pleased to know there are others like us out there."

Syrena nodded, "Where else are there pure ones?"

"We know there is a school in the mouth of the English Channel, just off the coast of Cornwall," Nia replied, "and there are rumors of pure ones off the coasts of Van Diemen's Land and Istanbul."

Syrena was shocked. She didn't know there were so many. The thought that she was not a one-of-a-kind oddity was consoling to her; it gave her confidence.

Finally Philip spoke, "What happened to you, Nia?"

Nia looked up at Philip and Syrena nodded, "This is Philip. He is safe. All his men are."

Nia's eyes flicked to Syrena then back to Philip, "We were once slaves taken from our land across this vast ocean. We worked on a sugarcane plantation in the Caribbean for many years, where our masters taught us to speak, how to work. Then we were sold to a man who grew tobacco in the land called Virginia. We sailed in two ships; the men on one and the women on the other. Only the men reached their destination."

Syrena looked behind Nia and realized that all were of African decent. She looked back to Nia; had she been human, she would have been crying freely.

"I am sorry for you, Nia."

Nia shook her head, "Do not be... this is our freedom. We are freer here in the sea than we ever were on land. We are thankful for this."

"Was your master Monsieur Jean-Jacques DuPont?" Philip asked suddenly.

Nia's eyes widened as she turned her attention back to him, "How do you know that?"

"I was once his daughter." Syrena replied.

Nia drifted closer to Syrena, her eyes full of wonder, "You are... were... Sophia? He spoke so much of you!" Nia exclaimed, "When did you become a mermaid?"

"Sixty-two years ago."

Nia blinked, thinking back, "We were sold and became mermaids sixty-one years ago."

Syrena wanted to cry. What had happened to her father? The realization that he had sold all his slaves and left the sugarcane business behind a year after her disappearance at sea troubled her.

"Do you know where my father planned to go after he sold you? What happened to him?" she asked.

"I do not know," Nia answered, "What are you doing here with these men?"

"We're looking for Jack Sparrow." Philip spoke.

Nia's eyes flicked to him, "Jack Sparrow?"

Philip nodded, "We think he might be able to help us in a certain endeavor."

"The Devil is planning to raise an armada of the damned, bent on exerting his power over this world," Syrena explained, "Jack Sparrow led us to the Fountain of Youth, as such we believe Jack might be able to help us defeat it."

Nia blinked, cocking her head wryly, "I cannot tell you where this Jack Sparrow is, but I think we can find someone who can help in this matter."

"You are joining us?" Philip asked.

Nia nodded, "As mermaids who keep to our original duty, it is in our interest to face our mutual foe. The Devil controls the Sirens."

Syrena's lips curled up into a small smile, "Where will we go then?"

"To Cornwall." Nia announced.

"Nathaniel, will you join us?" Philip turned and asked his brother.

Nathaniel rested an arm across his knee and blinked, "Your venture sounds a lot more honorable than a life of smuggling, you will have me in your company then."

A murmur ran through his men and he stood, turning to them, "Aye, the profits were good, but have you not felt remorse for each life taken?"

Some of them nodded and others stood their ground.

"I promise you, I know my brother to be no man's fool! If he speaks of anticipating the Devil and allies himself with mermaids thought to be mere legends, then what he warns of _must_ be true! Am I not right, brother?"

Philip nodded, "We need all the men we can get. I cannot promise you great rewards of fame and wealth, but know this, if you wholeheartedly serve our King... and by that I am not referring to King George... you will inherit the reward of eternal life!"

Some of the men stood in their boats and others looked about in confusion. Nathaniel rolled his eyes.

"What my articulate brother meant was that we are on the eve of battle between Heaven and Hell. If you choose to serve our Lord God the King, both spiritually and physically, then you will receive the gift of Salvation." he explained.

Others in the crew stood and Nathaniel looked back to Philip, "The majority speaks. When do we set sail?"

"At dawn," Philip responded, "welcome to the squadron, brother."

* * *

><p>Barbossa sniffed as he ascended to the quarterdeck of the <em>Queen Anne's Revenge<em>. The sun had risen but there was little show for it; it was an overcast day with air so thick that he had awoken already sweating. After the _Providence's_ boats returned from the incident the night before, he was glad to hear that they were sailing for Europe. Even better, the smuggler involved in last night's incident had turned out to be the young missionary-turned-captain's brother, who had decided to sail with them. It made him nearly shiver, to think that he, in the course of little over a week, had not only taken Blackbeard's sword and ship, but also acquired two ships of substantial size and would soon have a third... making a squadron of four large ships. Oh, Edward Teach was surely turning over in his watery grave at the remains of the Fountain.

"Why are we not yet underway, Salaman?" Barbossa asked his first mate.

The Arab looked from where he stood by the rail, "Captain Swift is making some arrangements with his fishy friend."

Barbossa clomped over, keeping a hand firmly on the rail to steady himself. The _Providence_ was little more than a cable away and he could easily see Swift leaning over the rail, saying something to the mermaid as she bobbed in the water next to the ship. He squinted his eyes and realized that her shoulders were dark.

"That's not his fish friend," Barbossa mused, "It appears our religious friend has a knack for attractin' mermaids."

Salaman eyed Barbossa curiously and looked back out to the mermaid in the water, his jaw dropping as nearly a dozen more surfaced.

"What be the sight we're beholdin', Captain Swift?" Barbossa shouted across the water.

Several of the mermaids turned to look at the _Queen Anne's Revenge_ as Philip shouted back.

"Another school of mermaids, Captain Barbossa! Fear not, they've seen fit to ally with us against our common enemy!"

Barbossa nodded as he watched the mermaids depart, diving through the water like dolphins up the anchorage.

"Get a move on, Captain!" he shouted, "The sands of time are falling!"

Philip turned and soon his officers were shouting orders across the decks, making a fine sight as the crew raced aloft and began loosing the sails. Barbossa smirked to himself as he turned to the deck at large.

"Brace yourselves, men!" he shouted as he drew his sword.

He pointed it skyward and the sails of his ship flew into action, unfurling themselves and sheeting home without a single hand at their stations. Then he trained his sword down and the ship lurched forward, cutting through the water effortlessly and leaving the _Providence_ astern. As they approached a passage, Barbossa twisted his sword to the right and the ship's wheel spun to starboard, nosing the bow through the passage and allowing the _Queen Anne's Revenge_ to put out into open water. By now the _Providence_ had set sail and was beginning to follow suit. A mile up the coast, Barbossa could see the ex-smuggler _Bombay_ setting sail to join their formation. The sight made his blood rush with excitement.

Aboard the _Providence_ Philip watched as the _Queen Anne's Revenge_ passed through the sandbar and entered the Atlantic Ocean. He could see Nathaniel's ship doing the same in the distance and he smiled to himself. God was showing His hand in this crusade to be sure. The events of last night had been as crucial in hindsight as they had been surprising in the moment. Not only had they discovered a school of mermaids that aligned themselves with Syrena, he had found Nathaniel and turned him from his questionable work with little more than some logical convincing. He silently thanked God for providing these additions to their mission, knowing that no matter how hard it would get, that He had everything under control.

"I have the deck, Captain." Norrington stated as he took his station near the ship's wheel, "You may go below if you like. I've already taken the morning fare."

Philip nodded, "Thank you, Mr. Norrington. I will be with Syrena if you need me."

Norrington nodded as Philip descended the companionways to her cabin, smiling broadly as he entered.

"I still can't believe it," he mused as she smiled back at him, "a whole school of pure mermaids!"

"All this time I thought I was alone," Syrena added, "you know not how much this increases my hopes, Philip."

"Perhaps," he agreed as he sat down next to the basin, "but you don't know how much I love you."

"That's where you're wrong." Syrena replied with a loving expression. She pushed herself up to him and kissed him.

"I can see it in your eyes." she said.

* * *

><p><strong>Historical Note:<strong> Van Diemen's Land would later be known as Tasmania. This was the name given to the land by the exploring Dutch before the British began using it as a penal colony.


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's Note:** When I created the character of the old minister in Cornwall, I saw Donald Sutherland. Hope you all enjoy this chapter! I am deeply appreciative of your reviews!

* * *

><p>SEMINARY<p>

The rains fell in a light mist over the gray Celtic Sea, limiting visibility to no more than a few miles. The water did not shine like a sheet of glass as it did in the Caribbean. It was choppy, made flat in color by the countless raindrops. The wind blew in sudden gusts that would throw the rain sideways and dash it across the decks of the _Black Pearl_ and _Royal Fortune_. The two ships sailed abreast of one another, their yards swung to starboard as they tacked upwind to the Northeast along the Cornish coast.

Captain Jack Sparrow stood near the ships wheel, squinting with his teeth slightly bared as the spray blew into his face. It was moments like these that reminded him why he had sailed for the Caribbean to begin with. Granted, it rained all around the world and he had been in weather _much_ worse than this, but to ply waters constantly enshrouded in dismally cold and gray rain was not his cup of tea. As a matter of fact, he disliked this rain as much as he did tea. The warm showers that cooled one's body during the hot months in the Caribbean were as enjoyable as a bottle of rum.

"Good morning, Cap'n!" Pintel greeted him cheerily as he came topside, "Would you like to take your breakfast now?"

Jack glanced over, his hand resting on the pommel of his sword, "Er, what is it?"

"Seein' as we never made port after being freed from the bottle, more sodden hardtack." Pintel reported as he looked down at the deck.

"Why should I go below to my cabin for sodden hardtack when I am already sodden enough up here?" Jack asked aloud, "Bring it topside."

Pintel nodded quickly and vanished belowdecks again as Jack looked out past the _Pearl's_ bow. There was a dark gray smudge looming out of the rain's haze.

"Land ho!" Marty's voice shouted from above.

"Cap'n, we've made landfall!" Gibbs exclaimed as he came up the stairs from the waist.

"Yes, Mr. Gibbs, I can see that!" Jack answered with a little annoyance.

Pintel returned to the quarterdeck with a couple of squares of hardtack wrapped in a dirty scrap of cloth. He handed them to his Captain and hustled himself off to the forecastle where Ragetti lollygagged on a barrel. He had an almost round scrap of wood in one hand with a penknife in the other.

"What's gotten into you, Jack?" Gibbs asked, blinking as another gust of wind blew rain into their faces.

Jack cocked his head back and to the side, frowning as he flicked his eyes over to the _Royal Fortune_ and back to his first mate.

"You know me, Gibbs," he said wistfully, "I'm Captain Jack _Sparrow_... not the sort of man who likes being cadged in."

Gibbs looked over at Roberts' ship for a moment and nodded, "I reckoned that was what's eatin' ya, Jack. But look! We're here, off Cornwall... soon your end of the deal will be met and we'll be on our own merry way!"

"You don't know Roberts," Jack replied, "He has a way of... making situations hugeish."

"Ah, you figure it won't be this easy?"

Jack shook his head, "He's always been one step ahead, mate. I'll go find his sword and he'll have some secret to tell, what 'bout buried treasure beyond our wildest dreams, then he'll enlist our help to find it."

Gibbs cocked his head, "Then just tell him you're disinclined to acquiesce his request."

"It's not that simple, Gibbs," Jack answered, "He usually knows what you're looking for and holds the carrot in front of your nose."

Gibbs looked back over as Murtogg cleared his throat, "Captain, sir. The _Royal Fortune's_ signaling us."

Gibbs approached the rail and looked back over his shoulder, "Cap'n, he's orderin' to strike sail and come aboard his ship."

Jack rolled his eyes and nodded, "Very well then, Mr. Gibbs. Hop to it!"

"Strike sail and drop the anchor!" Gibbs shouted to the deck, "Mullroy, put the boat over the side!"

The two ships furled their sails and dropped anchor, taking refuge in one of the many inlets along the cliffs of the coast. Soon, one of the _Pearl's_ boats was lowered and Jack brought across to the _Royal Fortune_. Jack greeted Roberts as he climbed up through the entry port.

"We've arrived, mate. Now all you have to do is run ashore, find the thing, and then we're finished!" Jack exclaimed with a small grin.

"Not so fast, Jack." Roberts replied as he came down from the quarterdeck. He wore a black boatcloak with a shoulder cape to protect his attire from the weather.

Jack grimaced as he heard the words he hoped not to hear, "What is it?"

"Did you free the _Pearl_ from her bottle or did I?" Roberts asked.

Jack winced, "... you did."

"I did," Roberts nodded slowly, "Now, what must you do?"

"Help you find St. Piran's Blade, which I've done. I found Angelica's ledger, I led us to Cornwall, now here you are."

"Ah, ah, ah..." Roberts held up a finger, "You may have led me to where St. Piran's Blade is hidden... but have you _retrieved_ it for me?"

"I have not. Why don't you go ashore and get it?" Jack tested.

Roberts smiled smugly, "Jack, may I remind you that there's a bounty on your head. The entire Royal Navy is looking for you. If you go ashore and collect the sword for me, I will protect your beloved _Pearl_ from them. If not, then I would be pleased to sink your ship _again_ and turn you into the authorities... and Davy Jones isn't here to cut you another deal."

Jack clenched his teeth and looked to the coastline, "Right... now how to get in?"

"Get into what?" Roberts asked crisply as he clasped his hands behind his back.

"The seminary," Jack replied, "Angelica's ledger, open it once and a while."

Roberts held up a hand and Steele approached, the leather book in hand. Roberts accepted it and opened it, finding the entry on St. Piran's Blade.

"The sword rests under the maker's tomb, where tears do not fall," Roberts read aloud, "Only a man who defeats misfortune with a kiss shall retrieve it."

Jack gestured to himself, "How do you suppose I get into that abbey?"

"You've done it once before, Jack." Roberts reminded him.

Jack arched a brow, "My hair was shorter then."

"You have three days, Jack," Roberts decreed stiffly, "At sunset the day after tomorrow, if I do not have the sword in my hands, I will sink your _Pearl_ and watch you hang."

Jack scowled as Roberts smiled and shut the book. He started to walk off and Jack spoke after him.

"Wait! That ledger... I'll be needing it back." he said firmly.

"What for?" Roberts asked warily, "You heard what I read."

"There be other dangers hidden in the catacombs to be sure," Jack reasoned, "If I am to get in, fetch your blade, and get out alive, I'll be needing that to anticipate what dangers lie ahead."

Roberts tightened his lips as he thought, then nodded, "Very well. Just get the job done."

Jack caught the ledger as Roberts tossed it to him, then tucked it into his weskit as he climbed back down into the boat to row ashore.

"Mr. Gibbs, take me ashore." Jack ordered as they shoved off from the _Royal Fortune_, "It appears I'm going to be ordained."

* * *

><p>Philip's hammock swung back and forth on its hooks as the <em>Providence<em> pitched and rolled in the heavy seas. The lightning flashed again and momentarily lit up his cabin, then the thunder rolled. It was a strong storm, not powerful enough to warrant urgency, but loud and rowdy enough to keep one awake at night. The storm was much like the one he had barely slept through the night before he was captured by Blackbeard. He surmised that this manner of weather was common in the Atlantic.

He listened to the sea churn angrily outside, dashing up against the ship's hull and throwing spray across the panes of glass next to him. It sounded much like a handful of pebbles was being thrown against the quarter gallery, as if the sea were trying to catch his attention like a lover trying to wake the other in the middle of the night. The wind howled through the rigging and the ship lurched as it tipped over another swell, then something crashed to the deck in the great cabin.

Philip sat up as best he could in his hammock, swinging his legs over the side and sliding down to the unsteady deck. The wood was slightly cold under his bare feet, waking him even more. He reached for his shirt hanging over the lip of his open sea chest, but decided not to. It wasn't that cold; naught but breeches was good enough. He opened the sleeping cabin's door and his eyes widened as he saw Syrena on the deck, wearing nothing but a shirt much as she had looked in the jungle. Her legs were awkwardly sprawled out and she was trying to grab the top of the table in the center of the cabin to pull herself back up.

"Syrena? What are you doing here?" Philip nearly croaked, rushing to her side.

"Something is wrong with me..." she murmured in his ear, "I wanted to surprise you... but..."

"What?" he asked, "I don't understand what you're saying."

She blinked, her mouth slightly open as she looked up at him, "I have been trying to walk while you are out on deck. I wanted to surprise you, Philip, but I had to come. I do not feel well."

Philip wrapped his arms around her and helped her up, then fell back with her on top of him as the ship hit another swell and rolled. She rested her head against his chest and shuddered, then it started to dawn on Philip.

"Shh, it's alright," he whispered in her ear and he held her close, "you are seasick."

"Seasick?" she asked, looking up to him, "I cannot remember the last time I was seasick."

Philip nodded and held her head against his chest, "All these years you've lived under the waves, immune to the wrath of the sea."

Syrena smiled, "Funny is it not? A seasick mermaid!"

She shuddered again and Philip propped himself up, holding her against him firmly as he then got to his feet.

"You walked all the way up here by yourself?" he asked.

"I have been practicing all these many weeks," she answered breathlessly, "I cannot walk without hanging on to something, but yes, I came up here alone."

Philip smiled and chuckled as he picked her up, "You have no idea, how proud I am!"

He carried her into his sleeping cabin and laid her in his hammock, grabbing the cloth from his wash basin to wipe away the sweat beaded on her forehead.

"This should help," he explained, "I was seasick when I left Cornwall and the ship's doctor kept my in my berth. It swings you see, so it lets the ship rock without disturbing you."

Syrena managed a small smile, "Thank you, Philip."

He leaned over her and kissed her lightly, reaching down and finding her hand. She squeezed his hand in a thankful gesture and closed her eyes.

"May I ask you something?" she spoke.

Philip shut the sleeping cabin's door and leaned against the bulkhead, his hands behind his back with one foot crossed over the other.

"What is it?"

"What were you going to ask me the other night? Before the schooner ran aground?"

Philip licked his lips and he leaned his head back. He had started to ask her to marry him, but something had interrupted him, cut the opportunity short. Perhaps God was keeping him from asking her. He was a missionary after all. He wasn't obligated to clerical celibacy, but not all men were called to marriage. What if it was because she was a mermaid? Was God preventing him from tainting the Holy purpose of the mermaid's existence? He wanted to marry her; he loved her more than anything in the world save Christ. Why had he been cut short when he had tried to ask her? Everything happened for a reason, so God must have had a reason to stop him.

_"Why did you stop me, Father?"_ he asked in his head, _"Am I not allowed to take her hand in marriage, as my wife?"_

He listened, but all he could hear was the pounding of the rain on the deck above them. God didn't always answer prayers immediately. Sometimes His desire was for you to be still and wait. Was that the case now? He wanted confirmation, a sign, something definitive that told him _Yes, this is her, the woman who I have intended for you, marry her_, or _No, she is not the one_.

"Philip?"

"Oh, nothing..." Philip shook his head as he was jerked from his thoughts, "I was merely wondering how you breathe underwater."

There was a moment of silence in the cabin before Syrena spoke, "I do not breathe underwater. I hold my breath, the same as you do."

Philip shuddered as the topic of the conversation changed, "Oh..."

"I do not have gills, I am still half human." she reminded him.

"How long can you hold your breath?" he asked further.

"I am not sure," she replied, "The longest I've stayed under is several hours. I can stay under longer when I sleep; my body seems to use less air when I sleep. I can stay under for nearly half a day when I sleep."

"Fascinating..." Philip murmured, "Try to get some sleep, Syrena."

Syrena slowly opened an eye and discretely looked at Philip. He slid down the bulkhead so that he sat on the deck, his legs out in front of him. Slowly, he slouched lower, propping his heels up on the sea chest under the hammock, then folded his hands across his stomach. She had sensed the turmoil in him when she asked him about the other night. She wasn't entirely sure if his question was originally what he wanted to ask. If she recalled correctly, his last words had been _"will you..."_ and not _"how do..."_ Perhaps she had let her heart get the better of her and she had heard what she wanted to hear. She loved him dearly and she knew he felt the same way, but perhaps he never entertained the thought of marrying her, a mermaid. He was a man after all and a missionary at that. Was he holding himself to voluntary clerical celibacy? Perhaps he feared the reactions of others. How would that work, a man married to a mermaid? She wanted to, she was even teaching herself to walk when she was alone, so she could accompany him regardless of where he was. Perhaps the thought of marriage was simply too much for him.

Frustrated with herself, Syrena tried to stop thinking. She wanted to fall asleep, to swing to sleep and stop feeling so ill. She knew what seasickness was, but she couldn't remember if she had been seasick when she sailed from Toulon. It was too long ago for her to remember.

* * *

><p>"You come on behalf of Philip Swift?" the old minister asked dumbfounded.<p>

"Aye," Jack replied, "I've come to me senses, what thanks to your boy."

The minister eyed Jack for a moment longer, then opened the door and gestured for him to come inside.

"So, Mr. Sparrow," the minister spoke as he shut the door behind him, "how is young Philip?"

"Splendid," Jack said flashing a quick smile, "He found me rotting away in Port Royal, Jamaica. After he shared the Gospel with me, he went to continue spreading the Word."

The minister smiled to himself and looked down at the stone floor as they sat in one of the wooden pews of the abbey, "And you sailed all the way across the Atlantic to thank his old teacher?"

Jack looked around the room. It was an old sanctuary, made entirely of gray stone with wrought iron chandeliers hanging from the vaulted ceiling. A thin red carpet was laid down the center aisle and a stone pulpit was situated at the front of the room, overlooked by a stained glass window much like the ones that lined either wall.

"I guess you could say that," Jack murmured, "Actually, I've come here more out of interest, to see where he was taught with hopes of learning a little more meself."

The minister arched a brow and Jack spotted the life in his eyes, "Is that so? You are considering following in his footsteps?"

"Perhaps," Jack nodded, "though I am not entirely sure yet. Perhaps I might stay here to observe?"

"By all means," the minister exclaimed, "the clergy is not for all men, but, I encourage you to see what you think of it."

Jack smiled and stood, "Do you mind me taking a look around?"

The minister gestured about with his hand, "Go right ahead."

"Wonderful!" Jack exclaimed, clasping his hands together, "First, I would like to find your library. Do you have catacombs beneath this place? I've heard all abbeys have catacombs."

The minister stood slowly, "I am afraid we do not have catacombs, but we do have a library. Follow me."

The two stood and Jack swaggered behind the minister, following him out of the main sanctuary through a narrow side door. They stepped outside into a small courtyard lined with covered walkways made of stone. The grass was thick and green, moss crept up the stone pillars along the walks, and there was a cobblestone plaza in the middle of the courtyard filled with pews and a pulpit for outdoor activities. They went down to another old stone building and entered through yet another narrow wooden door, this time entering a room of the same dimensions as the sanctuary, albeit with rows of tall shelves instead of pews.

"What exactly would you like to find in here?" the minister asked.

"Anything," Jack murmured, "I do not know where to start."

"Perhaps some sermons on the Gospel would point you in the right direction," the minister stated holding a finger up, "Let me fetch some for you."

"Uh, great!" Jack forced a smile.

The minister shuffled off to one of the aisles of books, leaving Jack to himself. He immediately leaned in and started scanning the bindings of the old leather-bound volumes. He was looking for anything on the region's history, or on St. Piran. Perhaps he could learn about the whereabouts of his tomb. The minister had said there were no catacombs under the abbey, but Angelica's ledger said otherwise. One of the two was lying.

"Ah, it seems you've found something of interest?" the minister mused as he returned.

"Oh, not really," Jack shrugged, "I was simply browsing. Say, you wouldn't happen to have anything on St. Piran? I know he is the patron saint of this region."

"Oh yes, St. Piran..." the minister nodded with a small smile, "...you are correct. He is the patron saint of Cornwall. He was even the first to preach to congregations in this very abbey."

"Fascinating," Jack cocked his head, "perhaps you know of his grave? I should like to see it."

"Catacombs and graves, you seem to express much interest in death," the minister noted, "is your uncertainty of life after death what drew you to Philip and the Gospel?"

"Nay, just my fascination with the occult," Jack explained, "I've seen many crypts and tombs; there's something about them that intrigues me, savvy?"

The minister stared at him for a moment and arched a brow, "Right, well I cannot show you St. Piran's grave. Nobody knows where it is. Some say he is buried in many places."

Jack forced a nod of understanding, "Well, perhaps I shall spend some time reading those sermons? I do not want to impose myself on your time and your teachings."

The minister eyed him and nodded slowly, "Very well. I will be in the Southwest building if you need me. I invite you to sit in on one of my lectures when you finish in here."

"It would by my pleasure," Jack smiled, "good day."

The minister left him in the library and Jack looked about. He knew there was more to this place; he could sense it. He began looking through the shelves, looking for any clues that could lead him to St. Piran's tomb. He thought back to the notes in Angelica's ledger. Hidden under the maker's tomb where tears do not fall... what did that mean?

Jack sauntered over to one of the small tables and sat on the stool before it, setting the book of sermons down and pulling the ledger out of his weskit. He opened it to the entry on St. Piran's Blade and scanned the page.

"To go where tears do not fall, you must first find the maker's tomb," Jack murmured to himself, "The maker's tomb is one breath down."

He looked up and squinted in confusion. One breath down. One breath underwater? Yes! That had to be it. Now the question was where underwater. Jack shut the ledger and slid it back into his weskit and looked out the window, noticing a gazebo on the cliffs overlooking the sea. He stood and made his way outside, looking about to see if he was alone. It was apparent that all the seminary students were in their class, so he stole across the open ground to the cliffs and approached the gazebo. Upon closer inspection he realized it wasn't a gazebo, it was a Holy Well. Jack smiled to himself as he looked down the shaft of murky water. It descended into darkness and the water didn't look all too inviting, but he had to try. After taking off his frock, hat, baldrick and setting them next to his pistols and the ledger, he took a deep breath and stepped in feet first, letting himself plunge down. He pushed off the walls of the narrow well to go deeper, feeling the pressure of the water build as he sank further from the light of the surface. He exhaled a little, trying to make his breath last as long as it could. It was a little disturbing, to be this deep in a well of water that a man could barely fit into, but he kept going.

Jack let more air escape from his lungs, pushing himself deeper and deeper down. He could no longer see unless he looked up, but even the light at the surface was beginning to dim. Suddenly, his boots touched the bottom and he scooted them about. The well was about three feet across, somewhat circular and chiseled from the rock of the cliffs. Then he felt the wall vanish, extending back into the rock. There was a hole on the side of the well. Jack was beginning to feel the strain of holding his breath now, but he reached out and felt the wall with his hands. The hole was just big enough for him to enter, so he did. As he reached up to run his hand along the ceiling of the tunnel, his fingers broke the surface and he immediately brought his face up. He gulped from the pocket of air and opened his eyes. He could see nothing, not even his hand in front of him, but he knew the air pocket was deep, as his breathing didn't sound confined to a small space.

After taking a couple more breaths, Jack reached up. He felt nothing. The ceiling was high. He felt around the walls and found a lip, pulling himself up onto it. He nearly sat on something, something hard. Jack picked it up and felt it with his hands, noting the cloth at one end. It was a torch. He felt around more with his hand and touched something small and flat, a flint. Smiling, he propped the torch against the wall and struck the wall with the flint, watching the sparks fly and seeing his surroundings for a split second. He struck the flint against the rock wall several more times before the torch finally caught enough sparks and lit, filling the room with light.

It was a small room, more a cave than anything else, and was just high enough for him to crouch in. Situated on the floor of the space was the rotting remains of a simple wooden coffin, in the midst of which was a skeleton. He looked about and saw no markers, no name, but he knew he had found it - the tomb of St. Piran. Jack scanned the floor, looking for any clues. There was nothing besides the rotting coffin and skeleton, no sword, no map or scrap of cloth, nothing. He reached out and felt the floor of the tiny cave. It was hard rock, but he noticed something, a sound. He listened closely, past the purr of the torch's flame. He heard water, not the water of the Holy Well he'd descended to get there, but the sound of a pool of water. He bent over and put his ear to the floor of the cave, smiling as he heard the sound and realized there was another cave below this one. How he would get to it, he didn't know. There wasn't any manner of entrance that he could feel in the walls of the tunnel at the bottom of the well.

Deciding he'd seen enough, Jack blew out the torch and enshrouded himself with darkness again, finding his way back to the entrance to the small tomb and sliding back into the water. He took another deep breath and sank back below, darting out of the tunnel and kicking off the bottom of the well with his feet. He rose towards the surface quickly, pulling himself up with his hands as he exhaled and felt the air escaping him again. It truly was one breath away; no more, no less. He finally broke the surface again, gasping as he pulled himself out of the well and sitting on the stone floor of the gazebo.

The tip of an old Roman sword suddenly appeared in his face and came close to stabbing his neck, bringing his chin up so that he was face to face with the owner. The old minister glared down at him at the other end of the sword and Jack sheepishly grinned.

"Parlay?"

"How did you find out?" the minister asked sternly.

"From an old friend," Jack replied, "He says we have to find the sword before the Devil's man does."

"It is happening?"

"The Armada of the Damned? Yes. Philip Swift fell in love with a mermaid." Jack told him.

The minister blinked, shaking his head slightly in confusion, "Then why is he not here to retrieve it?"

"I don't know where he is. The last I saw of him, he was leaving the battle for the Fountain of Youth, mortally wounded."

The minister's eyes widened, "The Fountain of Youth? Oh God, where is Philip Swift? I pray he is safe."

Jack held up his hands, "What I _do_ know is that there is a man of his word down yonder along the coast who threatens to sink my ship if I don't bring him St. Piran's Blade by tomorrow night."

The minister cocked his head, "What is his name?"

"Bartholomew Roberts," Jack answered, "A good man, but certainly a little two-faced."

The minister lowered his sword and offered Jack his hand, "Come, there is much to be learned and little time."

Jack accepted his hand and stood, shaking the excess water from his clothes as the minister slid the sword through the sash of his cassock.

"Mr. Sparrow, I want you to think about your old friend Roberts," the minister continued, "I have heard of him. I remember reading about him and his exploits off the Ivory Coast."

"I sailed with the man for two years," Jack replied, "We sacked Nassau together."

"You're a pirate?" he asked in surprise.

"I am Captain Jack Sparrow!" Jack answered with a swarthy gin, "No, young Philip did not set me straight, but I'm walking straight enough to know which side I'm on."

"Apparently not," the minister said back, "Bartholomew Roberts has sent you ashore to retrieve the sword, yet Philip is the man who has fallen in love with a mermaid."

Jack cocked his head, "The pure-hearted man is the same man who kisses a mermaid?"

"A mermaid can only love a pure-hearted man," the minister explained, "Did you not consider that?"

"I did," Jack mused, "But Roberts is a good man."

"But not a pure-hearted man," the minister pointed out, "Captain Sparrow, you are ashore retrieving the sword for the Devil's man."

Jack frowned, "Oh bugger..."

"We can still counter him," the minister said fervently as they walked back to the old abbey, "He sent you ashore because he cannot set foot on this Holy ground. Neither will the sword confirm its power in his hand. He is forced to take your word, and, seeing as he thinks you easily duped, he will take your word for truth."

Jack flashed a small smile, "I like where this is going, mate."

"Here, take this," the minister said, pulling the old sword from his cassock's sash again, "this blade was made in the sixth century, the same time St. Piran lived. He will believe this is it."

Jack accepted the old sword from the minister's hands and nodded, "Sounds like a plan, mate. Now, I'll be going back to set this man off course."

"Be careful, Captain Sparrow. If you can, free yourself of your association with him as soon as it is delivered. Sailing with him will only lead you to destruction."

"And what of Philip?" Jack asked.

"If he is truly the Lord's man, he is alive and will be here soon. Godspeed, Captain Sparrow. I pray that this venture has led you to reconsider your life of piracy." the minister answered.

Jack cocked his head and smiled, "I'm afraid I've already purchased my own circle of Hell, mate. My past deeds are too dark to be forgiven."

The minister arched a brow, "Then you lied to me when you told me you heard the Gospel. I suggest that when this is all over... you come again and read that book of sermons I found for you."

Jack thought for a moment, "Perhaps, though there's no telling if I'll be alive when this is all over."

The minister looked up and smiled, putting a hand on Jack's shoulder, "I have Faith that God will see you through this... and that you shall return."

* * *

><p>"That's it?" Jack asked in confusion.<p>

"Aye, you are free to go, Jack," Roberts replied politely as he held the sword, "I upheld my end of the deal and you upheld yours."

Jack cocked his head, "Strange, you usually have some lucrative offer to offer after one venture ends."

"Not this time, Jack. I am sailing on personal business now. I have no need for your company." Roberts answered.

Jack nodded, "Very well, I take my leave."

"In case you were wondering, you did the right thing, Jack." Roberts called after him as he descended the _Royal Fortune's_ side.

Jack hid a smirk, "I know, Bart, I know!"

Roberts frowned, "Do stop calling me that. You know I don't like it!"

Jack smiled to himself as he stepped down into his boat and sat in the stern. Gibbs gave him a sly grin.

"We're free, Cap'n. Shall we sail for the _Whydah Gally's_ wreck?" he suggested cheerily.

"No, we go ashore. I'm intending to stay around here until someone arrives." Jack replied.

Gibbs nodded, "Then the crew has shore leave, I suppose?"

Jack looked about the boat, noticing the pleading faces from Pintel and Ragetti.

"We could purchase some fresh stores!" Gibbs reminded him, "I'm sure I speak for all the crew when I say I am sick of hardtack."

"And I could get meself a glass eye that actually fits..." Ragetti murmured.

"Why would we, pirates of the Caribbean, _purchase_ fresh stores, Mr. Gibbs?" Jack asked as the boat started to row ashore.

Gibbs squinted at Jack, who smiled slyly.

"There's a Company dock not far from here," Jack began, "One with a warehouse far overstocked with goods I imagine."

Gibbs cracked a smile, "I'll assemble a detail to _liberate_ them of some of their hoard."

"Good, they need to be reminded that greed isn't a good thing every once and a while!" Jack grinned.

The boat chuckled and looked over their shoulders as shouting broke out on the _Royal Fortune_. The crew began climbing up the shrouds and soon the sails were being set as the anchor rose up out of the Celtic Sea.

"I don't think the Company will like us being here after we help ourselves," Jack mused, "Mr. Gibbs, the crew has two days shore leave before we collect our stores and depart."

The men in the boat cheered and Gibbs nodded in approval, "And what of this someone you are waiting for?"

"They have two days to get here," Jack decreed, "After that, we set sail. I don't want Roberts to get too far ahead."

"We're tailing them?"

"Black Bart is up to something and I'm intending to see what that is." Jack confirmed.

They watched the _Royal Fortune_ as it slowly began to leave the anchorage under the cliffs, heading back out to open sea. They were sailing Southwest, back towards the Caribbean.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> I cannot promise you chapter seven within the next couple of days. I am in the process of packing to embark upon a mission with the Virginia Military Institute's Chaplain to Taiwan! I feel so blessed to have this opportunity, as I have only briefly been to the Canadian side of Niagara Falls and the Mexican side of the Rio Grande. I have extensively been to forty-five out of fifty of our United States (I have yet to go to Hawaii, Alaska, California, Washington, and Oregon), but this will be my first time truly out of the country! The VMI Chaplain wanted a cadet to accompany him to represent the Corps of Cadets, and seeing as I am heading towards a career as a Navy Chaplain, he asked me to be that cadet. We'll be there for eleven days, visiting the Republic of China's Military Academy and their Air Force Academy. Only 2.6% of the ROC's population is Christian (Catholic and Protestant), so this will be an interesting experience, as Christians in Taiwan do not enjoy the comforts of being the majority as we do here in the United States. I would be most grateful for your prayers at this time, so "Chap" and I may go to the far side of the world and do great things in His glorious name! I leave on Thursday, June 9th, and will not be back until Saturday, June 20th. Yes, that looks like twelve days on the calendar, but it will be eleven due to the international date line!


	7. Chapter 7

**Cast Notes:** Morvoren is played by Kate Bekinsale and Humphrey Doggard is played by Timothy Spall.

* * *

><p>THE LORD'S FIRE<p>

Captain Philip Swift came up the companionway and out onto the _Providence's_ quarterdeck, donning his cocked hat before approaching the entry port. Norrington nodded to him as he stepped through and began to climb down the ship's side.

"I've sent Gillette to the _Black Pearl_ to assess the situation and keep me informed," he reported, "Good luck ashore, Captain."

Philip nodded, "Very good, Mr. Norrington. Keep an eye on the coast as well. We might need some assistance."

Norrington nodded back as Philip climbed the rest of the way down and into his boat, looking over to where Syrena bobbed in the water. Nia surfaced next to her and looked about. It was an interesting collection of ships. They had arrived off Cornwall's coast and quickly found Jack Sparrow's ship, the _Black Pearl_, but not the Captain himself. Now the _Providence_, _Queen Anne's Revenge_, and _Bombay_ joined the black pirate galleon in the anchorage under the cliffs, making quite a formidable sight for those watching from ashore. No doubt someone had recognized the two pirate ships... it would probably be only a matter of days before the Royal Navy started sending scouts out of Portsmouth to sniff them out.

"Be careful," Syrena spoke earnestly as she bobbed over and held onto the boat's gunwale, "I love you."

Philip nodded, "I love you too, Syrena. Nia, watch out for her."

Nia nodded from where she bobbed in the water and Philip looked up to Groves, "Right, Mr. Groves, take us ashore."

Syrena and Nia turned and vanished below the surface as the _Providence's_ boat started rowing for the coast to meet the boats from the other ships.

Below the surface, Nia and Syrena swam closer inshore, followed by the contingent of other Charles Town mermaids that had come along. The two dozen mermaids dove deep, descending through the murk until they found the seabed. They were looking for the fabled Mermaids of Cornwall, one of the other schools of pure mermaids who kept to their original Holy duty. The mermaids fanned out into a line abreast, looking for any clues of their existence or their whereabouts.

Syrena scanned the rocky bottom about her, looking for any sort of crack or hole that a mermaid could fit into. There were many nooks and crannies, but nothing suitable for an entrance and nothing that led to an underwater tunnel or cave. Now she understood why there was so much mystery about them. If it was hard for another mermaid to find them, then it must be impossible for a man to find them.

They continued their search in silence, using basic hand signal to communicate as they combed the depths.

Philip's boat ground to a halt in the sand and he stood, hopping into the surf and trudging ashore to the group of men that awaited him. Groves got out of the boat and followed, slowing to take a second look at Murtogg and Mullroy in the _Black Pearl's_ boat. They sheepishly grinned and held their hands up in greeting.

"Gentlemen..." Groves nodded back to them with an amused smirk on his face, "I see you survived the maelstrom."

"'Ello Leftenant," Mullroy responded, "that's a nice uniform you got there... what's it represent?"

"The Lord God, our King." Groves answered.

Ragetti looked up from his work on the scrap of wood and shot a glance at Pintel, who arched a brow and nodded in approval.

"Captain Swift." Barbossa greeted Philip as he approached the circle of men.

"Gentlemen," Philip nodded to the others.

The group consisted of Barbossa and himself, his brother Nathaniel, and a man he'd seen before.

"This is Master Gibbs, first mate of the _Black Pearl_." Barbossa introduced him.

"Mr. Gibbs," Philip greeted him, doffing his hat, "where is Captain Sparrow?"

Gibbs' shoulders sagged, "I haven't the slightest notion. He went ashore on some personal business and hasn't been seen since."

"How long has it been?" Nathaniel asked as he folded his arms across his chest.

"Two days. We were supposed to acquire some goods and set sail on someone's tail, but Jack never returned." Gibbs explained.

Barbossa shot Philip a sideways glance as he leaned on his crutch, "You've checked _all_ the local pubs and taverns, I presume?"

Gibbs nodded, "Aye. Jack may be an odd sort, but this isn't like him."

Barbossa rolled his eyes, "Well gentlemen, we'd best start searching."

"He was sent ashore by Captain Bartholomew Roberts to find a sword. He mentioned St. Piran's Abbey." Gibbs added.

Philip and Nathaniel looked at one another and Philip spoke, "St. Piran's Abbey is where I completed seminary."

Barbossa looked down at the sand for a moment and nodded, "Very well. You will start your search there. Mr. Gibbs and I will start our search inland."

"One more thing," Philip caught them as they turned to leave, "Syrena discovered from a reliable source that Bartholomew Roberts is the Devil's man, the commander of the Armada of the Damned. Where is he, Mr. Gibbs?"

"Jack returned with the sword and gave it to him. The _Royal Fortune_ set sail for the Caribbean minutes later." Gibbs recounted.

"He has _the sword_..." Philip blinked, "What sword?"

"St. Piran's Blade." Gibbs explained, "It was made during the sixth century and is rumored to burn in the hands of a man with a pure heart."

"And Roberts has that sword?" Nathaniel exclaimed.

Gibbs nodded and Barbossa started crutching off, "Then there's not a moment to waste, gentlemen! Every second we spend ashore is another second he has to put distance between us!"

Nathaniel approached Philip and touched his arm, "I'm coming with you, brother."

Philip nodded and looked up at the cliffs, "I was just about to ask you to join me."

"Where shall I go?" Groves asked, standing behind them.

"Go with Captain Barbossa and Mr. Gibbs," Philip gestured, "They could use an extra man."

Groves nodded briskly and trotted off to catch them, then Nathaniel exhaled deeply.

"How did you get caught up in this again?" he asked as they started up the beach towards a dirt road.

"It's a long story." Philip answered as he rested his palm on his spadroon.

"We've got time." Nathaniel gestured to the road winding up the bluffs overlooking the beach.

The two brothers continued to briskly make their way inland, Nathaniel listening to Philip as he told him everything.

* * *

><p>Syrena and Nia had nearly reached the cliffs by now. Still, their search had rendered nothing. There were a couple rotting remains of small fishing vessels that had no doubt wrecked on the shoals over the years, but aside from that, the only sights were what Mother Nature had to offer.<p>

Nia swam a little further down into a crevasse, peering into the shadows and pausing. There was a tunnel that continued down into darkness, one that was certainly large enough for a mermaid to fit into. She drifted back up and grabbed a rock, tapping it on another to grab Syrena's attention. Syrena looked over and Nia pointed, gesturing with her other hand. After signaling the other mermaids that something promising had been found, Syrena and Nia swam down into the crevasse. It reminded Syrena much of the entrance to the Tortuga mermaids' lair, but as the crevasse leveled out and took on a more man-made appearance, she knew this would be different. They swam through the tunnel, which led back under the cliffs for a good distance.

That's when Syrena noticed it. There was light filtering through the water, light that was too bright to be that of deep sea fish. It was golden in color too. The tunnel started to angle up and suddenly they broke the surface, finding themselves in an underground chamber. It was lit by torches hung along the walls and looked like the interior of an old church, albeit without windows. It was round with a vaulted ceiling, lined with pillars, between which there were statues of men wearing ancient armor. In the center of the room, the floor rose up out of the water to a pulpit, encircled by large candles fixed on tall iron rods.

The water around the raised pulpit churned and something grabbed Syrena around the waist, pulling her under. She swung her tail about, writhing to free herself, but whatever held her was too strong. Then she realized that whatever was wrestling her down had arms, a head and shoulders, and a tail like her own. She tried to work her arms in to push the other mermaid off, but she was finally brought down to the floor of the chamber. Then a spear shot through the water towards her face and she caught it, using all her strength to push it back and the wielder with it. Suddenly, as soon as it had started, the aggressive mermaid let go and pulled her to the surface.

Syrena coughed and blinked, looking about to find Nia. She bobbed next to her, and they were surrounded by at least two dozen mermaids armed with spears and tridents.

"How did you find us, sisters?" one of them snapped.

"We looked for the entrance to this... this room." Nia answered.

The first mermaid approached her, "That's quite obvious. How did you know we are here to begin with?"

"We heard there were other pure mermaids out there," Syrena spoke up, doing her best to look bold despite feeling otherwise, "we wanted to find you."

The Cornish mermaid cocked her head as she looked at Syrena, "You're pure?"

Syrena and Nia nodded.

"Where are you sisters from?"

"I am Nia, leader of the Charles Town mermaids," the African mermaid introduced herself, "and this is Syrena, a one of a kind in her school from Whitecap Bay."

"You are a Whitecap Bay mermaid?" the Cornish mermaid asked in surprise, "I heard they have become the worst of the corrupted ones."

"She is also the mermaid who has fallen in love with a man." Nia commented.

A murmur ran through the Cornish mermaids and their leader spoke, "You? _You_ are the mermaid the shanty tells of? Have you kissed him?"

Syrena nodded, "The pirate Blackbeard came to find the Fountain of Youth. When they captured me, Philip protected me from the other men. He carried me through the jungle. He even suffered wounds for me and faced death without regret. Forgiveness for accidentally getting me captured was all he wanted, so I kissed him and saved his life."

"Where is Philip?" the leader asked.

"He is ashore, looking for someone." Syrena told her.

"Bring him to us," the leader responded, "we must give something to him."

Syrena nodded and she turned to leave, then Nia spoke, "What is your name?"

"I am Morvoren, Queen of Mermaids." she replied simply.

Nia and Syrena paused, staring back at the mermaid that bobbed in front of them.

"I thought..."

"That I was dead?" Morvoren finished Nia's sentence, "That's what most mermaids think. After the Sirens won, I went into hiding to preserve our roots."

Syrena's brow furrowed in disbelief, "How?"

"Davy Jones protected me," she answered, "I was his creation, the first mermaid, from which all pure traditions came. He took me aboard his ship and brought me here."

Syrena and Nia's jaws were slightly open in awe, then bowed their heads.

"Go, young Syrena," Morvoren instructed, "Go and find Philip, then bring him to me. The pure-hearted man must have his weapon for the battle that comes."

Syrena and Nia nodded and ducked back below the surface, swimming back into the tunnel for the coast outside.

* * *

><p>Barbossa, Gibbs, and Groves walked the streets of Perranporth, looking about for a good place to start asking questions. They walked in silence, eyeing the townsfolk carefully as they passed by.<p>

"There's an inn," Groves pointed out, "I think that would be a good place to start."

Barbossa nodded, "Then off you go, Mr. Groves."

The former naval officer nodded and crossed the street, stepping inside and looking about. It was an average establishment, much like any other inn found in Britain. He approached a finely dressed man having the midday fare and stood before his table.

"What do you seek, sir?" he asked crisply, wiping his mouth with a cloth.

"The whereabouts of Jack Sparrow." Groves answered bluntly.

The man set his fork down and stopped chewing on whatever was in his mouth and arched a brow.

"May I ask why?"

Groves pulled back the chair opposite him and sat down, resting his elbows on the table as he leaned in.

"I've an old grudge against the bugger," Groves explained, "He led my ship on a chase halfway around the world, which ended in a hurricane off Tripoli."

"You were a _Dauntless_ man?" the other man sat back in his chair, "That's bloody unfortunate."

"To say the least," Groves nodded, "Jack Sparrow ended my naval career. I've had to take up privateering since and it has been my personal vendetta to take that man's life."

"I was about to ask about the non-regulation uniform," the other nodded, "I was a quartermaster aboard the _Interceptor_... before Beckett's seizure of Port Royal."

Groves smiled in surprise, "Well, isn't this a small world?"

The man nodded, "It certainly is. I'm Humphrey Doggard, quartermaster of the East India Company dock here in Cornwall."

"A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Doggard. I am Theodore Groves, second officer of the privateer _Providence_." Groves nodded politely, "Now that you know why I want to find him, do you know where he is?"

Doggard shook his head as he took a sip from his glass of wine. He licked his lips as he set it down and cocked his head, "It's out of my jurisdiction, Mr. Groves. He was collected by the Lancashire Lads two days ago."

Groves nodded, "What were those boys doing all the way down here in Cornwall?"

"A forced march," Doggard answered, "I spoke to one of their officers and he said they're preparing for North American station in Nova Scotia."

Groves stood, "Thank you, Mr. Doggard. Your information has been most helpful."

"Anything for one of Norrington's Own," Doggard replied, "It's a bloody shame, what happened to him. He was well on his way to having his own flag."

"He did get his own flag... just not with the Navy." Groves informed him.

"The John Company?" Doggard asked.

"Yes, Lord Beckett reinstated him and sent him after the pirates of the Caribbean."

Doggard shook his head, "I feel sorry for the man. He deserves more."

Groves nodded, "That he does, Mr. Doggard, that he does."

"Say, I'll keep an ear open for Jack Sparrow." Doggard commented, "Seeing as I control the Royal Navy's supplies around here..."

Groves nodded in thanks and stepped out of the inn, spotting Barbossa and Gibbs waiting for him and another man. He looked ragged, wearing a red coat and a big hat with a feather in it. His hair was pulled into dreadlocks and his face was well worn.

"What have you found, Mr. Groves?" Barbossa asked wryly.

"Sparrow was taken by the Lancashire Regiment of Foot when they came through on a forced march." Groves reported.

Gibbs nodded, "This is Captain Teague... Jack Sparrow's old man."

Groves' eyes widened and he cocked his head, "I can see that..."

"It appears that the King had a warrant out for Jack's arrest over his... colorful departure from London several weeks ago," Barbossa announced, "We must find the others... we've an elaborate rescue mission to plan."

The four men started down the street towards the edge of town, unaware of Doggard as he watched them through the window of the inn's tavern.

* * *

><p>"You were captured by Blackbeard, found the Fountain of Youth, fell in love with a mermaid, and now you're looking for Captain Sparrow and St. Piran's Blade?" the minister asked with an impressed grin on his face.<p>

Philip nodded. He was sitting in one of the pews with Nathaniel as his old teacher stood before them.

"Well, I can't tell you exactly where Captain Sparrow is. All I know is that he came by here looking for St. Piran's Blade as well, then got carted off by soldiers stopping through on a march," he continued, "but I _can_ tell you where St. Piran's Blade is."

"Bartholomew Roberts has it," Nathaniel said, "we know Captain Sparrow got it for him."

"St. Piran's sword and St. Piran's Blade are two different things..." the minister answered wryly, "the first of which Roberts possesses, thinking it is what he wants."

Philip held up his hands, "What you are saying, Father, is that Roberts does not have St. Piran's Blade?"

"That is correct. He has an old relic, something that St. Piran did carry, but not what he intended for use against the Devil," the minister explained, "Gentlemen, St. Piran was a man of God. He knew just as well as we do now what the best weapon to use in Spiritual warfare is."

Nathaniel blinked and looked down as Philip cocked his head, "I'm afraid I don't know, Father."

"You do know," he nodded, "you've just been bombarded by so many legendary things in the past month that you're forgetting to remember that the most important things are actually the most well known and simple things."

Philip thought for a moment, "The Bible says to wield the Lord's Fire. Is that not the Word of God?"

The minister nodded, "It is."

"Then what is St. Piran's Blade?" Philip asked.

The minister gestured for them to stand, leading them outside to walk towards the Holy Well overlooking the cliffs and the sea. The wind came in little gusts that blew the skirts of their coats about.

"St. Piran knew the most potent weapon in a Holy man's arsenal was the Word of God - the Bible. However, he also knew there would be times in this world which merited the use of other weapons..." the minister began, "He prayed that God would allow him to collect a literal and tangible manifestation of the Lord's Fire, for use in pitched battle when Spiritual warfare became visible to the entire world."

They began to walk along the cliffs, down towards the gravel road that lead back to Perranporth.

"St. Piran's Blade is a physical manifestation of the Lord's Fire, a Holy presence for man-made weapons much like the Holy Spirit is the Lord's presence in our bodies," the minister informed them, "It does not inhabit a particular sword, but rather any sword wielded by the pure-hearted man God intended to have it."

They continued down the road towards the outskirts of town, leaving the abbey behind.

"To protect this power, God led Davy Jones to create mermaids, pure-hearted beings, the angels of the sea. They guard St. Piran's Blade, and only a man pure enough to win a mermaid's heart is pure enough to wield it."

Philip and Nathaniel stopped, looking to each other as the minister turned.

"You are God's intended man, Philip. This is His plan for your life. You are a Soldier of the Cross, the Wielder of St. Piran's Blade."

Philip looked at the ground, "I am not worthy of such a commission."

"Most including myself would agree," the minister told him, "but God needs men to fight in His name on the ground, both in Spiritual and literal senses."

"We must go, brother," Nathaniel put his arm around Philip's shoulders, "We still have a fighting chance."

"No, you do not. There are no chances," the minister said with sudden energy, "This war shall be our victory, in the name of our Lord God. It is merely a matter of those who have been chosen to fight stepping onto the field of battle to claim that victory."

Philip looked up, "Where is St. Piran's Blade?"

The minister pointed down at the beach below the cliffs. There was a white spec on the water.

"It is where only she can take you," he said, "Go, Philip, meet your destiny the King has intended for you."

Nathaniel and Philip started walking again and the minister spoke after them, "There is a chest in the crypt. Do not forget to retrieve what is inside it."

Philip nodded and they continued down the road towards the turn that led down to the beach.

* * *

><p>"Philip!" Syrena called to him as he and Nathaniel came down the beach.<p>

"I'll be here waiting for you." Nathaniel said after him, clapping a hand on his shoulder.

Philip walked into the water and shivered at its temperature, approaching Syrena until he had to swim to her.

"I know what St. Piran's Blade is." Philip told her.

"I know where it is," Syrena replied, "Wrap your arms around me."

Philip hugged her and she wrapped her arms about him, kissing him passionately as she pulled him under the surface, leaving Nathaniel standing on the beach with a slightly amused expression on his face.

"Well done, brother..." he commented to himself as he watched them vanish. Just as he watched them leave, Barbossa's voice carried across the beach to his ears.

Syrena swam down through the water, holding Philip close to keep him warm as the cold waters of the Celtic Sea grew darker. She kicked hard, propelling them down to the rocky seabed and into the crevasse they had found. They swam through the tunnel and Philip's eyes widened as he saw the light shining through at the other end. Soon, they surfaced and he coughed, blinking as he tried to get the water out of his eyes. Syrena wiped the water away and kept her arms around him as Morvoren approached.

"Philip, I am Morvoren, Queen of the Mermaids and guardian of St. Piran's Blade." she introduced herself.

"I am Philip Swift, Captain of His Holy Majesty's Ship _Providence_." he replied.

"His Holy Majesty's Ship?" Syrena whispered in his ear, "Nice touch."

"I thought you'd like it." he looked back at her.

"As we speak, the Devil's man sails to command the Armada of the Damned," Morvoren continued, "Be quick, take what has been intended for you and go to the defense of the Lord's Creation."

Syrena let go and he swam for the pulpit that rose up out of the water, looking about the room for the chest that the minister had spoken of. He spied it sitting on the floor next to the pulpit, just out of view from the entrance to the crypt. Philip climbed up out of the water and shook the excess off as he ascended to the pulpit. The other mermaids drifted into a circle in the water around it, watching with mixed expressions. Some smiled with joy while others watched respectfully.

A Bible sat on top of the pulpit, its pages free of both dust and the yellowing that comes with age. The print in it was Old English, which Philip could read thanks to seminary. The pages were opened to Ephesians, Chapter Six. Philip quickly found verse seventeen on the page and smiled at the words.

_And take the helmet of Salvation, and the sword of the Spirit, which is the Word of God._

"What shall I do?" Philip asked Morvoren.

"What would you do?" she asked back.

Philip looked back to the Bible and licked his lips, blinking as he thought.

_"God, what shall I do?"_ he asked.

Syrena watched from down in the water, her brow furrowed as she watched him intently. A small smile broke out onto her face as she saw him open his mouth and close his eyes, holding his hands up and lifting his head. He remained still for several moments, then his eyes fluttered open and he looked down. Then he slowly drew out his spadroon, placing the blade between the pages and shutting the Bible over it. He picked the Bible up, holding it in his left hand as he grabbed his spadroon in his right. Philip gently drew the spadroon out from between the pages, as if the Bible were a scabbard. When he finished, he looked down at the sword.

"Only draw your weapon in the name of the Lord," Morvoren spoke, "It is your duty."

Philip's eyes widened as the blade of the spadroon began to glow, turning red as if it had been recently hammered out on the smith's anvil. It grew brighter, turning slowly to orange, then yellow, until it burned white hot. Philip held the spadroon up, squinting as he looked at it. Syrena smiled and Philip's eyes met hers.

"In the name of Jesus Christ, I carry this weapon." Philip declared.

"Now you must go, for the Devil's man still plies the sea." Morvoren reminded him.

Philip sheathed the spadroon; the blade suddenly stopped glowing and returned to its normal appearance as he let go of it. He paused and touched the pommel. Nothing happened. Philip grabbed the handle and started to draw it and the blade immediately started glowing again. He smiled as he returned it and looked to the chest.

"It is not really a breastplate, but functions just the same." Morvoren noted as Philip opened the chest.

Inside was a folded garment of clothing. He drew it out and unfolded it. It was a black coat with long skirts, bucket cuffs, and a shoulder cape. It looked like a cross between a frock and a clerical cassock, complete with a silver sash to wear about the waist. Beneath the coat and sash was another folded piece of black cloth. He noticed an eyelet and some white amongst the folds. It was a Cornish flag.

"You spoke correctly when you said you commanded His Holy Majesty's Ship _Providence_," Morvoren added, "Fly the colors of the King high."

Philip set the cassock frock and sash back into the chest and shut it, then picked it up and carried it down to the water's edge. Two of the Cornish mermaids swam over to take either end as Syrena came forward to take Philip.

"I love you, Philip." she said quietly before kissing him again. They plunged back beneath the surface and started back out of the tunnel.

Philip held onto Syrena tightly as they swam through the dark depths, feeling her arms around him and her hips as they bumped him with each kick of her tail. They exited the crevasse and started back up towards the surface and finally broke it. The other two mermaids surfaced with the chest behind them and they started swimming over to the beach.

Nathaniel, Barbossa, Groves, Gibbs, and Teague watched the spectacle from ashore, then Teague spoke.

"That boy's just lived the dream of every man I've ever met on the high seas," he murmured as Philip let go of Syrena and started sloshing up out of the water, "Do you know how many men would want to be in his boots right now?"

"Their romance is hardly lustful," Nathaniel defended, "That's why Philip's the only man to have done it."

"What have you found, Captain Swift?" Barbossa asked.

Philip drew his spadroon and held it up for the rest to see. Everyone's jaw dropped and Gibbs started crossing himself.

"I thought Roberts had it?" Groves stuttered.

"He had St. Piran's sword," Philip explained, "but not St. Piran's Blade!"

Teague cracked a sly smile that soon diminished.

"Where's Captain Sparrow?" Philip asked, "And who are you?"

"I am Captain Teague... Jackie's father," Teague introduced himself, touching his forehead in a jaunty salute and bowing his head, "and my son... is in the Tower of London awaiting execution."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> Surprise! I managed to squeeze out one more chapter before I leave! This one "flowed onto the paper" rather easily, but I assume that's because so much is going on. I don't know about you, but when I write, I literally begin to watch a movie in my head, copying what I see and hear with my fingers on the keyboard. You know you're in a groove when the characters just start speaking and it comes naturally... you don't have to think, you just listen. I even surprised myself with the last part. The Tower of London? What? How in the heck are they going to get Jack out of this one? It sounds harder than springing him from Davy Jones' Locker in my opinion! Again, I will not promise you another chapter before I leave. Who knows, the Lord has a thing for making time that you don't think exists, but don't get your hopes too high. Besides... I have my work cut out for me. Philip and co. have to break Jack Sparrow out of the British Empire's Alcatraz... in the heart of London. Talk about going into the lion's den (pun intended)! Before I leave, thank you so much for your well wishes and prayers! It means a lot! I guess you could say I am going into the world like Philip Swift to do the Lord's Work... let's just hope I don't get captured by pirates while I'm over there! Ha ha!


	8. Chapter 8

**Author's Note:** This chapter has a lot of action in one particular sequence, so one part of this chapter is a pretty meaty portion of text. I know it might seem a little confusing, but aren't chases in movies sometimes hard to follow and filled with surprises? Don't worry, questions incurred by this chapter will be answered. Enjoy!

* * *

><p>INTO THE LION'S DEN<p>

The rain fell in droves, pounding London so hard that water sprayed back up from the puddles in the cobblestone streets. Hardly a soul walked the streets due to the rather inclement weather; those who did either had pressing business or no home to take shelter in. The smoke from the chimneys rose like hazy pillars from the rooftops as there was no wind.

A carriage rattled down the streets, following the waterfront along the Thames. It was a black carriage with brass fittings and a crest on the door, showing it to be that of someone of high status. Their prestige and occupation was made even more apparent by the boatswain standing at the back of the carriage and two marines riding on horses behind it.

The carriage turned a corner and started up a road that crossed over water, the moat that divided the Tower of London from the rest of the British Empire's capital. It started to slow as it approached a security gate, fortified by towers in which soldiers undoubtedly watched. There was a red and white striped guardhouse in which a sentinel stood, waiting for the carriage to come to a stop before stepping briskly out into the rain. He wore the signature crimson regimental frock, white waistcoat and breeches, and black gaiters of the British Army. His cuffs and lapels were buff with white trim, the denotation of the Lancashire Regiment. Atop his head was the tall bearskin cap and tin hat plate of a grenadier; he was as good as soldiers in the King's Army came.

"State your name and business." the soldier spoke crisply through the window.

"How dare you speak to a flag officer in such a way!" the boatswain reprimanded him as he jumped down from the back of the carriage, "That is _Vice-Admiral_ Ironwood, _Duke_ of Perranporth and commander of the Southern squadron!"

The grenadier brought his firelock to present arms and snapped to attention, "My apologies, sir!"

The Admiral inside the carriage nodded and waved his boatswain off, "Stand down, Mr. Trenton; this fine soldier is only upholding his duty. Am I not right, private?"

The grenadier blinked the rain from his eyes, slowly ordering his firelock to his side and nodding, "Yes, sir."

"See, Mr. Trenton? I am correct."

"My apologies, sir." Trenton spoke as he leaned around the corner of the carriage.

"Open the gate!" the grenadier yelled.

Another grenadier in an opposite guardhouse stepped out into the downpour and pulled on the gate, pushing the weighted end down with his boot. The black and white striped arm reached up into the air and the driver snapped the reins, starting the carriage along again and leaving the first checkpoint behind. However, the second checkpoint still remained.

Again, the carriage came to a halt and another grenadier stepped out into the rain. This time, he stood ready by the carriage as a door in the guard tower opened and a sergeant stepped out. His three white chevrons stood out brightly on his red sleeve, which was edged with buff backing to match his regimental facings. His lips were tight and slightly twisted down, giving him the rather gruff and slightly snooty appearance characteristic of many British NCOs.

"Your name and business, sir?" he asked bluntly as he stood at attention. He had caught a glimpse of the Vice-Admiral's bucket cuff through the window.

"Vice-Admiral Ironwood, Duke of Perranporth," the Admiral replied through the window, "I am here to personally see to the death of a certain pirate."

The Sergeant squinted and cocked his head, "We have no pirates due for execution today. If you're here to see the one Jack Sparrow hanged, his trial will be held this afternoon and the hanging tomorrow."

The Admiral slowly held a purse of money out of the window and shook it slightly so that the coinage inside jingled, "That pirate took my son's life, denying him a career in his father's footsteps. You'll make a year's worth of wages in one day if you let me in."

The private glanced at his NCO, arching a brow as the Sergeant looked about and snatched the purse. He jerked his head for the private to open the gate.

"Righto, sir, in you go." he said.

The iron gate clattered as the chains pulled it up, allowing the carriage clearance into the interior walls of the fortified prison. As the carriage rolled inside, the two marines looked up at the walls, noting the naval guns installed on the ramparts overlooking the city. Though it was a prison, it was a well designed fortress that could be used as a last resort for the defense of London.

The Admiral's carriage turned left and rattled up a cobblestone ramp to the muddy compound, continuing along under the wall until it reached Beauchamp Tower. Thunder rumbled in the distance as the carriage door on the opposite side and a Lieutenant stepped out, wearing a boatcloak to keep his uniform from getting too wet. He strode around the carriage with Trenton and opened the door, allowing the Admiral, who was also in a boatcloak, to step out. They paraded through a door in the tower's base as the two marines tethered their horses and followed.

Another sergeant sitting behind a small table looked up from a book he was reading, sniffing to keep his nose from running freely. As soon as he saw Ironwood he stood and snapped to attention.

"Good day, sir." he greeted him.

"Stand easy, Sergeant," Ironwood replied, "I'm here to collect a prisoner."

"Which one, sir?" the Sergeant asked.

"Jack Sparrow."

The Sergeant blinked, his mouth moving as he tried to choose his words wisely, "With... all due respect, sir... I have explicit orders from Whitehall that he is not to be moved until his trial."

"And that is why we are here," Ironwood's Flag-Lieutenant spoke sharply, "make haste, Sergeant, or that pirate won't be the only man standing trial today."

The Sergeant knuckled his forehead hurriedly in a salute and snatched a cage-frame lantern from the wall, turning to rush up the stairs as the Flag-Lieutenant and two marines followed. As soon as they were out of sight, the Admiral and Boatswain rushed to the door and snatched looks at the walls and towers outside.

"The rain's keeping most of the garrison inside," Gibbs mused as he scanned the muddy compound, "I spy less than two dozen guards posted about."

Norrington nodded as he brushed back his boatcloak and checked his pistol, "My powder is dry, Mr. Gibbs, and yours?"

Gibbs looked down and pulled back his short jacket, "As dry as the desert."

Norrington arched a brow at the wax that Gibbs had melted over his pan to protect the powder, "A capital idea, Mr. Gibbs."

Gibbs smirked and looked to the stairwell as they heard the scrape of the Sergeant's shoes and the tinkle of chains. He came back down with Murtogg and Mullroy dragging Jack behind them.

"The prisoner, sir." the Sergeant declared as he sat the lantern down on the table.

Jack tilted his head back and cocked it as he eyed Norrington, his mouth hanging open in a curious stupor, "I thought you were dead?"

The Sergeant looked to Norrington curiously and Norrington gestured to Jack, "It seems the tables have turned, Sparrow. Thank you Sergeant, that will be all."

"Right, sir. I shall just have your signature here..." he tapped a scrap of paper on the table next to his book.

"Leftenant." Norrington nodded to Groves as he came down the stairs, "Sign the prisoner out."

Groves nodded and busied himself with the paperwork as Murtogg and Mullroy dragged Jack to the door. Norrington stepped up to him, so close that he was reminded of the stench he had smelled long ago when Jack escaped another hanging.

"You follow along and we all ride out in one piece," Norrington murmured in Jack's ear, then he drove his fist into Jack's gut. Jack gasped and coughed as Norrington stepped back and nodded to the Sergeant, "Good day, Sergeant. Stay dry."

The Sergeant nodded as Gibbs pulled the door open and Jack was dragged out into the rain to the carriage. The vehicle's door was thrown open and Jack pushed inside, then Murtogg and Mullroy mounted up again as Groves and Norrington got in with Jack.

"Easy now," Gibbs said quietly to Nathaniel Swift, who sat atop the carriage at the reins, "We just need to get back into the streets of London."

Nathaniel nodded as Gibbs shut the carriage's door and climbed back onto the rear and thumped the roof. They started off again and started turning back towards the inner gate.

"How did you come back?" Jack asked with a smirk as he sat opposite Norrington and Groves.

"We can discuss that later," Norrington replied crisply, "Our first concern is getting out as easily as we got in."

They looked up as Gibbs' fist pounded on the roof again and Groves looked out the window. The carriage was beginning to slow and a stream of redcoats were running across the mud to form ranks in front of the inner gate.

"Get down, Jack." Norrington ordered as he looked out his own window.

They rolled up to the formation and came to a stop as an officer with the white epaulettes of a major on his shoulders approached the carriage. The rain had already done away with his powdered wig; the curls had come undone and hung loosely down the sides of his face.

"By the authority vested in me by His Majesty, King George the Second, I hereby place you under arrest for unlawfully removing a prisoner from his cell." he said loudly, a hand resting on his sword.

"What in the devil are you talking about?" Norrington roared, "How dare you challenge me!"

"Rank and peerage aside, sir, you have violated strict policy!" the Major snapped back, "Come out of the carriage at once!"

"I'll have you court-marshaled!" Norrington snarled, "Do you know who I am?"

"I do sir, and my commanding officer outranks you both in the military _and_ nobility! Now step outside!" the Major answered.

"Sir!" Groves hissed, pointing at the gate.

There was a shout as the red-coated rank broke open and a gaggle of nearly naked men stumbled into the compound. After a few moments of heated conversation, a Lieutenant trotted over to the Major.

He trained his spontoon towards the carriage and announced in a loud voice, "These men shall be arrested for attacking a press gang, stealing their uniforms, and posing as officers and men of His Majesty's Royal Navy!"

The Major quickly looked to the Lieutenant and drew his sword, "Stand down at once or I will command my men to fire on you!"

"Major, you have a choice... arrest us or recapture Jack Sparrow!" Norrington replied loudly.

The Major approached the carriage and beckoned for his men to surround it. They broke formation and began running across the compound, their boots spattering mud all over their white breeches.

"What do you suggest? I'll have you all!" the Major snapped back.

"You only have us at the moment," Norrington answered, "as we speak, Sparrow is one step closer to the streets of London."

Suddenly a bell in the guard tower overlooking the inner gate started ringing wildly. The Major and most of the men looked over their shoulder just in time to see Jack run out from a corner and around the tower, right through the open gate past the guardhouse. The sentries who had been posted there now stood behind the Major's men, chained for accepting Norrington's bribe.

"After him!" the Major shouted.

The Lancashire Lads turned and ran for the gate, turning their breeches further tan with mud as the chase began. Nathaniel cracked the reins and the carriage rattled forward, making most of the soldiers on the ground throw themselves to the side to avoid being hit. Those who were already out of the way fell to their knees and began cracking off shots at the carriage, shouting for the others to get back up.

"How am I supposed to get out of these?" Jack asked as he held up his irons.

"We have a plan," Groves answered, "now hold on!"

Groves and Norrington pulled out their pistols and cocked them, pointing them at the roof and pulling their triggers. The two rounds punched a considerable hole through the top of the carriage, which they widened by hitting at it with the butts of their pistols. After it was big enough, Groves reached down to the floor and picked up a small barrel of pistols, feeding it through the hole just as Gibbs pulled himself up onto the roof and laid on his belly. He began to pull pistols from the barrel, two at a time, often with multiple barrels, and began pouring fire back at the soldiers chasing them. Norrington and Groves leaned out each window with their own collections of pistols and began adding to the hail of lead. At the front of the carriage, Nathaniel grinned as they hurled full speed for the outer checkpoint, making the sentinels jump over the bridge and into the moat to escape the coming explosion of wood. The horses leaped over and the carriage smashed through the gate, sending shards in all directions. Just as they turned left, Jack turned onto an alley to the right. Jack looked out the small window next to the carriage door as they passed the alley, squinting at the other Jack as he hurried off.

Angelica Teach ran down the alley, refusing to even try looking over her shoulder as she leapt over crates and wove through barrels. Lead balls began to moan past as the soldiers finally made it across the bridge and into the streets. She only needed to make it two more streets over, two more streets and she could evade them. She heard the sounds of hooves clattering on the cobblestones as dragoons rode out across the bridge to pursue the carriage. It made her smile wickedly as she realized their plan was working. At least half of the heat would be off the carriage. She vaulted over another crate and turned the corner, racing across a street. Her footfalls sent water in the puddles spraying up about her, making her grit her teeth. As she ran, she began to transform. She ripped off her mustache, her braided beard, and threw them into a pile of trash as she entered another alley. The rain was starting to present itself as a disadvantage; if there were people milling about the streets, she could still weave through them while the soldiers would be less inclined to take potshots at her. Another lead ball whizzed past her and hit the brick wall of the building to her left, sending a shower of dust across her face. She plucked her hat from her head and tossed it aside, then pulled the beads and trinkets from her hair with the red bandanna. The dreadlocks could be undone later.

As she further transformed from Jack Sparrow the man to Angelica Teach the woman, the footfalls of the pursuing redcoats became more distant. Though she was still wanted for her participation in the escape, she knew they were beginning to realize they weren't chasing Jack Sparrow. Finally, she broke out into the next street, shaking off the brown tweed frock coat and angling towards the tavern across the street. Just as she reached it, the door was thrown open and she jumped inside, slamming into the wall as the door was just as quickly shut. The redcoats shouted as they made it into the street, looking about as they tried to decide which alley she had taken. There were fewer of them now, undoubtedly from splitting up along the course of their pursuit.

"Well done, Miss. Teach." Barbossa smiled from his table.

Teague kept an arm on the door, looking out the corner of the window in the event that they decided to try the tavern. He then looked to her and gestured at her.

"Keep going, they'll recognize you if they come in."

Angelica strode over and sat at Barbossa's table, splaying her shirt and weskit slightly as she reached in and pulled out the cloth that restrained her feminine features. As soon as she had tied the cloth about her head and rolled up her sleeves, the door burst open and two soldiers ran inside. They looked about the tavern as Angelica leaned on Barbossa and started playing with his beard. He in turn looked to the soldiers and smirked.

"If ye want some company that badly, gentlemen, there be more wenches upstairs!" he remarked.

The two soldiers glanced at Teague, who had leaned against the wall and taken up a tankard. He toasted to them and began downing the beverage as the soldiers looked to one another and exited the tavern. As soon as the door was shut, two dozen clicks could be heard as the other pirates in the tavern pulled their pistols from under the tables and returned them to their belts.

"Well done, gentlemen!" Barbossa quickly looked back at them, his eyes widening in his usual manner, "Now we ride back to the ships."

Pintel and Ragetti stood as the former spoke, "Right, you heard the Captains... back to the ships."

There was a moment of silence as Teague looked to them, "Did I say anything, mate?"

Pintel sheepishly grinned and Ragetti pulled him towards the back of the tavern where the rest were migrating.

* * *

><p>Though Angelica's part of the plan had been finished, the chase still roused the city's streets. The dragoons turned the corner and immediately spotted the getaway carriage, standing in their stirrups to open fire with their carbines.<p>

"We've got company!" Gibbs shouted as he pulled off another shot with a pistol, "Murtogg, Mullroy, slow them down!"

The two posing in their former profession looked over their shoulders and then to each other. After reaching across and shaking hands, they pulled their horses to a stop and turned, pulling pistols from the holsters on their saddles. They squeezed off their shots and one of the dragoons dropped, falling from his horse and dragging along the street as one foot was caught in a stirrup. This seemed to heighten the dragoons' resolve; they slung their carbines back and pulled out their sabers, cracking their reins to an even faster breakneck pace. The two marine impersonators shrieked and turned to gallop off after the carriage again, pulling their second set of pistols out and shooting behind them. Yet another was dropped, but now, neither had loaded guns. They had reached their last resort - steel against steel.

"Move!" Gibbs shouted as he shouldered a blunderbuss.

Murtogg and Mullroy parted and galloped up on either side of the carriage, opening Gibbs' field of fire. He pulled the trigger and sprayed the oncoming dragoons with a hail of lead, killing two more. One fell off and rolled on the street while the other was completely blown off the back of his horse.

"Six more!" Groves shouted as he shot at one of them from his window.

"We have to get out of the carriage!" Norrington called, "Or we'll miss the rally point!"

"You jump!" Nathaniel shouted back, "I'll keep driving!"

"Turn when you can, we jump there so they don't see us!" Norrington continued, "When you find an opportunity to ditch, do it and start making your way back to Perranporth!"

Nathaniel nodded and cracked harder on the reins, driving the team so hard that the carriage began to swerve. They swung around a corner and nearly tipped, but everyone managed to open the doors and fall out onto the street. Jack, despite being clapped in irons, was the first on his feet and began hopping and bumbling into an alley, followed by Gibbs. Norrington grabbed Groves and dashed into another, and Murtogg and Mullroy split up into two more side streets. The dragoons turned the corner just as the carriage turned again and disappeared from sight, leading them straight past the escapees. Everyone waited until the hoof beats softened, then they crept back out into the open. Murtogg and Mullroy dismounted and let their horses go, then started pulling off their marine frock coats.

"Where are we?" Groves asked.

"I spied the steeple over there," Gibbs pointed behind Jack, "we were one street off."

Norrington strode past and grabbed Jack by the wrist, pulling him along as the rest followed. They wove through the alley as it curved around and opened onto the next block, revealing a plain church. Quickly, they trotted across, looking about as Jack's chains jingled. Once inside everyone looked down the center aisle at the pulpit.

"Ah, I knew I could count on you, Clergyman!" Jack exclaimed with a grin.

Philip stepped down from the pulpit, now wearing his cassock-styled frock. His baldrick was worn over it, his silver sash over it about his waist to keep it securely against him. He carried his cocked hat under his left arm as he approached the party.

"We must hurry, Captain Sparrow. Bartholomew Roberts logs more miles across the Atlantic with each passing moment." Philip answered.

Jack held up his chains, "Then get me out of these and let's go!"

Philip pulled out his spadroon, making Jack smile broadly as he watched the blade start burning. Philip easily cut apart Jack's bonds, letting them drop to the floor as Jack wrung out his wrists.

"So you're the one, aye?" Jack exclaimed as they headed for the side door, "I knew it had to be you!"

"Roberts is unaware for now, but it won't be long before he finds out," Philip replied, "Let's go."

They exited the side of the church where a coach awaited. Gibbs hopped up onto the driver's seat and Murtogg followed. Norrington opened the door and Groves followed him inside; they began switching from Royal Navy disguise back to their old garb as Mullroy took up the footman's place at the rear of the coach.

"After you." Philip gestured to Jack.

Jack clapped his hands together and bowed, then climbed in and sat opposite the two officers as Philip entered and shut the door. Gibbs started the team and the coach lurched off down the alley, making for the muddy highway that lead out of London to the South of Britain.

* * *

><p>Syrena slowly walked down the dirty boardwalk, dressed in a simple shirt and bodice with a plain angle-length skirt. Her hair was loosely piled up into a bun with strands that rebelliously hung about her face, giving her the appearance of another plain citizen of Perranporth. She had spent enough time practicing to walk that when Philip departed with the rest to rescue Jack, he suggested that she discretely size up the Company wharves so they could quickly take what they needed before setting sail to pursue Roberts. As she walked she looked out at the water below the stone waterfront, noticing the line of bubbles paralleling her; Nia and a couple of the other Charleston Mermaids were keeping an eye on her in the event of trouble. Luckily, a skirt was something she didn't have to try and tear off before jumping into the safety of the water. As long as nobody knew she wasn't wearing anything underneath it, she would be able to pass as an average human being.<p>

"Afternoon, Miss." a soldier said as he passed. He was clad in the dark blue uniform of the Company and had his firelock slung up over his shoulder.

"Good afternoon." Syrena answered quietly.

They passed and suddenly the soldier's footfalls stopped.

"Pardon me for keeping you, but I've not seen you before," he said after her, "my name is Adam Quincy. Are you recently moved to Perranporth?"

Syrena froze, clasping her hands in front of her as her mouth opened slightly in fear of what could happen next. She forced her lips into a shy smile and turned, "Yes, actually. My name is Sophia... Sophia DuPont."

"A French name?" Quincy asked with a wry smile, "What's a French girl like you doing on this side of the Channel?"

"My father died," Syrena explained, "so my mother returned home to Cornwall."

Quincy's eyes saddened and he looked down at his boots for a moment, his smile vanishing, "I am sorry for your loss, Miss. DuPont."

"Merci." Syrena bowed her head.

"M'Lady, I do apologize for interrupting, but Corporal Quincy needs to attend to his post." a voice said.

The two turned and an officer in a blue and orange uniform approached.

"Please excuse me, Miss. DuPont," Quincy said, "Right away, sir!"

The soldier turned and strode off as the officer looked her up and down, then walked away. He then paused and looked back to her.

"M'Lady, might I ask you a couple of questions?" he addressed her.

Syrena's heart sank. She was fine walking around and investigating, but after living in the ocean for so long, she felt that any man who took a closer look at her would see her for what she was, even if she stood on two human legs. She wished she had a more constricting outfit, so she could "faint" and fall off the waterfront to hide in the depths.

"Yes, what might they be?" she asked back.

The officer clasped his hands behind his back and slowly approached, "Do you know a Philip Swift?"

Syrena's heart fluttered again at hearing his name. She didn't know if saying yes was a safe answer.

"Yes, he is one of the recent seminary graduates." Syrena nodded slowly.

"Ah, good, then perhaps you've heard of his brother, Nathaniel?" the officer asked courteously as he stood before her.

Again, Syrena didn't know what answer would be safe. She had said yes the first time, so she swallowed her fear and nodded again.

"Yes, I know of him."

The officer cocked his head, "When was the last time you saw him?"

Her thoughts turned back to the night on the Charles Town Bar, when Philip had turned his brother away from smuggling. She remembered Nathaniel's comment on the ship's he preyed on, connecting the dots and seeing why the East India Company would want to know where he was.

"Years ago. He was stationed in the Far East running goods from Singapore to Bombay." Syrena informed him.

"You knew the Swift boys while living in France?" the officer questioned; he had overheard part of her conversation with Quincy.

"Yes... my father was also a missionary." Syrena lied.

The officer arched a brow, "Oh, how noble. I presume his final destination is of little concern to you then. Good."

Syrena bowed her head again in a gesture of gratitude, "Quite."

"Do keep an eye out for Nathaniel Swift," the officer said, "he was one of our finer captains and the Company would like to find him; he's vanished you see, shortly after the scandal Lord Beckett caused."

Syrena nodded, "I shall. Good day to you, sir."

"And you, Miss." he doffed his hat to her.

The two parted ways again and Syrena exhaled in relief, looking about for anything else of interest.

"What is it?" Nia's voice hissed from the water.

Syrena turned onto a stone jetty and carefully made her way down the stairs along the side, sinking to her haunches as Nia drifted over.

"The East India Company knows Nathaniel Swift is alive," Syrena reported, "he must have knowledge of something important, and my guess is Lord Beckett isn't the only high profile agent involved in corrupt business."

Nia nodded as she bobbed in the water, "I think he is safe with Philip; they won't find him when he returns from the rescue. What else have you found?"

"The warehouses are rather well guarded, unless we want to cause more trouble, we won't be taking on supplies here." Syrena said.

"Or perhaps we could cause enough trouble beforehand so we can make off with what we need when they return from London," Nia suggested, "otherwise they won't be able to make the Atlantic crossing before starving."

Syrena nodded, slipping from the stone steps and into the water. She felt the tingling sensation of her legs fusing back together into her tail, growing back to its full length of five feet, her feet transforming back into her flukes. After bobbing completely under to get completely wet, she undid her dress and shimmied out of it, letting it drift to the surface as she stripped off the bodice and shirt. After hiding the clothes, she pulled her hair back down and looked to her ally.

"What do you suppose we do?"

"What your sisters at Whitecap Bay did to the _Providence_," Nia pointed to one of the moored East Indiamen.

Syrena nodded as they dipped back below the surface, signaling the other mermaids as they swam towards the shadow of the two-decked ship. Swiftly, the maidens of the deep congregated around the slimy green hull of the merchant, waiting for the signal to strike. There were little more than a few dozen of them, but they could manage.

Nia nodded and the mermaids attacked, using their tails to slam the ship's hull till breaks opened. The water around the ship rippled with each salvo of tails, then it tore apart with an angry cloud of bubbles. The foremast had cracked and gone by the board, plunging into the water and acting like a giant anchor. Slowly, the ship began to settle in the water and capsize as the mast, still attached to the ship by its rigging, drifted and caught on the bottom.

Syrena watched the spectacle as Nia's mermaids continued their attack, noticing the legs of men as they abandoned their ship and started swimming for the docks. They didn't target the men as they made their escape, but as they finished the first Indiaman, they swarmed another moored nearby. It was a smaller vessel, a schooner by the angle of its keel under the water, so it succumbed to its attackers quickly. Once that ship was broken apart and wrecked in the shallows of the anchorage, the mermaids started moving on to the wooden piers. They decimated the pilings, collapsing the docks into the water as musket balls began to streak aimlessly through the water. Small boats began to approach from the small beach nearby, pikes and spontoons stabbing into the water as the men aboard them tried to ward off their attackers. There was little they could do; the mermaids dodged the man-made weapons and grabbed them, pulling them into the water and collecting them. Soon, piles of pole arms laid on the rocky bottom, causing the boats to retreat to the beach as they realized their attempts were in vain. The amount of lead pouring into the water increased, and soon the spray of swivels set up on tripods firing grape shot into the water started. The amount of ammunition piercing the water's surface reminded Syrena of a rainstorm, turning the water from a glassy texture to something more frothy and rough.

Nia signaled to the other mermaids to withdraw, and Syrena followed them out to the safety of deeper water, then, they started back down the coast towards the inlet where the pirate squadron was anchored.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> My mission trip to Taiwan was absolutely mind-blowing! So much happened in these past eleven days that I cannot even begin to start telling you all what happened. I think an account of this journey is worthy of its own story, but of course, it isn't fanfiction, so I can't post it here. I took lots of photos and will be getting pics from others in Taiwan who snapped shots with me, so check out my Facebook sometime soon to see some of the things we did. In light of the amount of activity I've endured over the course of this trip and a draining return flight, I am actually quite surprised I managed to begin and complete this chapter so soon after getting home at 6:30pm on Monday (I left at 10am Monday in Taiwan, flew across the Pacific against time, and managed to go back in time three hours despite a twenty hour flight! Cool!). If you noticed missing words or typos, please let me know so I can correct those mistakes! I was so thrilled to find reviews waiting for me when I logged in today, so thank you to those who have commented and please keep the feedback coming... I think it might be the source of my "fiendishly paced" writing (to quote someone, you know who you are!).


	9. Chapter 9

**Author's Note:** There's a new ship joining the cast, the frigate _Shtandart_. I'm keeping her name and captain a secret. You have to read to find out!

* * *

><p>THE FIELD OF ARMAGEDDON<p>

The coach slowed to a stop atop a crest in the road, making Philip wake up. Nathaniel was still wrapped in a wool blanket, his clothes drying on the roof of the vehicle from crashing the carriage over a bridge and into the Thames. They had found him, as wet as a dog, running along the highway shortly after leaving London's city limits and entering the countryside. Needless to say, everyone was happy to find the rescue mission had been pulled off cleanly. After linking up with Teague, Barbossa, and Angelica's element of the rescue party in a hamlet, the lot of them began the trek back to Cornwall to board their ships and hunt down Roberts.

"What is it?" Philip asked as he blinked the sleep from his eyes.

"Something's happened." Norrington informed him.

By now, Jack had woken up and groggily looked out the window, pausing as he arched a brow. Philip leaned over him to see what they were looking at. The town of Perranporth buzzed with activity as East India Company troops rushed about, hauling materials and tools down towards the Company wharves. The docks had collapsed down into the water and the ships at anchor in the shallows rested on the bottom.

"I don't see any other damage or wounded," Norrington mused as he opened the door and stepped out of the coach, "nor are any other docks or vessels wrecked."

Jack slipped out of the coach to join Norrington as Philip shook Nathaniel awake.

"Perhaps the Company greedily overloaded their ships?" Groves suggested.

"And destroyed their docks in the process?" Gibbs asked sarcastically as he hopped down with Murtogg, "And you know as well as I that the Company wouldn't risk that much cargo... everyone's thinkin' it; I'm just sayin' it... _mermaids_!"

By now the other coaches had stopped and the rest of the pirates had stepped out to observe the spectacle.

"Mermaids?" Barbossa asked as he limped over, "What do you think happened again, Mr. Groves?"

Groves arched a brow and looked back out to the ships, "I think the Company ran afoul of nesting seagulls."

Barbossa smirked as he looked to the rest of them, "What say you, gentlemen?"

Gibbs smiled wryly at the joke, nodding, "Aye... a whole fleet of them."

Jack looked about in confusion, "You're not making _any_ sense at all."

Barbossa, Gibbs, and Groves smiled to themselves and started to follow Jack as he began down the road.

"We should take the coaches!" Philip called after them from the door, "It is faster."

"And a convoy of coaches would only attract attention!" Barbossa answered, "We'll melt through the town with the rest of the crowd."

Norrington looked back at Philip, "He's right, Captain."

Philip looked back at Nathaniel and tossed his shirt at him, which was still slightly damp. As his brother threw off the blanket and redressed, the rest of the party began moving down the road towards the town, fanning out into little groups to weave through the different alleys.

"How did you get off that island?" Jack asked as Angelica jogged up behind him.

The two old flames started off the road towards one of the alleys with Teague following a little behind them. Murtogg and Mullroy peeled off further to the left with Pintel and Ragetti while Gibbs, Barbossa, and Groves stayed to the right. Other members of the expedition started to head to the far edge of town, choosing to circle it completely.

"Rum-runners, Jack," Angelica replied, "rum-runners sailing a schooner."

Jack grinned, "Ah, see? I knew you had a chance!"

"Their schooner was the _Sea Turtle_, Jack." Angelica finished with a smirk.

"Riding sea turtles isn't as hard as most think," Jack mused as they walked through the alley, "it's all in the manner of sea turtle you try to ride."

They grinned at each other as they exited the alley and wove through the chaotic crowd, crossing the street to the next side road.

"Now the question is, how did you turn up here?" Jack asked.

"There is only one man other than my late father who knows of my book," Angelica explained, "when it turned up missing, I knew you had been there."

"The rest was easy, eh?" Jack smiled.

Angelica held up Jack's compass, "Quite. Give me my book and you get your compass back."

Jack nodded, "Agreed."

He pulled her ledger out of his weskit and held it over to her, letting it slide from his fingers as she reached across and attached his compass to his belt.

"You could have just handed it to me..." Jack noted.

Angelica's mouth turned up in a sly smile, "Now where would the fun be in that?"

Philip and Nathaniel Swift picked their way through the crowd, crossing one dirt street after another as they crossed to the other side of town. The pair had garnered a couple of glances, notably at Philip's swashbuckling clerical garb.

"Where do you think Roberts is sailing?" Nathaniel asked.

Philip looked down the street as another wagon of lumber was hauled past, noting that the Company warehouses were going unnoticed.

"Back to the Caribbean. Where, in it I am not sure, but I think we should start at Tortuga." Philip answered.

"Gibbs suggested that we try to reach the Brethren Court at Shipwreck Cove," Nathaniel offered, "Each of the Pirate Lords have considerable influence and could give us the numbers to oppose the Armada of the Damned."

Philip looked to his brother, "Gibbs knows the Caribbean better than I. To follow his advice would be wise."

A gust of wind blew down the street, billowing the ankle-length skirts and shoulder cape of Philip's frock. Nathaniel looked Philip up and down and smiled wryly.

"You were the perfect pick, brother." he commented.

Philip arched a brow, "Hm?"

"God, in His infinite wisdom, picked the perfect man to wield His blade."

Philip looked down at the road as they walked, "And I feel that I've done nothing special to merit such a bestowal."

Nathaniel grinned and clapped a hand on his shoulder, "That is why God picked you. You are ever humble, Philip."

Another pair of hands suddenly grabbed Nathaniel by the shoulders and pulled him away. Philip wheeled about and put his hands up in defense as a squad of Company soldiers stepped forward. They did not point their weapons at him due to his rather clerical attire, but they remained firm.

"Nathaniel Swift, you are being placed under arrest for the crime of smuggling, theft of Company property, and evading authorities." an officer wearing the blue and orange of the Armed Escort Service declared.

"Though smuggling, theft, and evasion of the law are punishable offenses, I find this arrest to be a hypocritical one." Philip spoke to the officer.

"Stand down, Master Swift," the officer warned, "you may be a man of the Church, but that does not put you above my jurisdiction."

"A jurisdiction acquired with corrupt business," Philip spat back in disgust, "I read the gazettes, I've heard the stories."

A Company NCO started putting Nathaniel in irons as the officer reached out and put his hand on Philip's chest, pushing him away.

"I said stand down, sir."

Philip pushed back against the officer's hand, "You're covering up, tying off loose ends that could further unravel the very fabric of your monopoly."

The officer backhanded Philip across the cheek and everyone froze. One soldier's mouth dropped open as he stared at his superior.

"With all due respect, Leftenant, he's a member of the clergy!" one soldier piped up.

"That was out of line, Private!" the Lieutenant snapped, then gestured to Nathaniel, "Take this man away!"

"On account of my being a God-fearing man," the private answered, "I'll have to say no until you seek the Clergyman's forgiveness, sir."

"Get out of my sight, Philip Swift," the officer growled, "and as for you, Private... _you_ will stand trial before an Admiralty Court for insubordination!"

Philip seized the opportunity to reach out and draw the bayonet of one of the soldiers, pulling it up across the chains Nathaniel wore. Before any of them could see the bayonet burn white hot, Philip had cut the chains in a single slice and dropped the weapon to the ground, pushing the soldiers away as he grabbed his brother and pulled him away.

"Get back here, the both of you!" the Lieutenant shouted.

The people milling about the street screamed as the soldiers burst after them, using their muskets to force people out of their way. One of the bystanders pushed back and the soldier fell to the ground, the musket discharging and inciting screams.

Norrington looked down the alley as the shot rang out and screaming broke out, then gestured for the crewmen following him to split up. They trotted down the alleys to the street where the chaos was ensuing, then ducked as they saw Philip and Nathaniel sprint past with Company soldiers in hot pursuit. The Lieutenant ran by and Norrington stepped out into the street.

"Oakley!" he shouted.

The Lieutenant stopped and turned to look at Norrington. His face screwed into an expression of dumbfounded surprise.

"Admiral?"

Oakley noticed the new colors of Norrington's uniform and the pirates in the alley behind him, then started drawing his pistol. One of the pirates opened fire and dropped the Company officer, making him fall so hard that his hat and wig came off. More people screamed and other Company soldiers coming up from the wharves started to kneel in a rank for a volley.

"Make for the beach, _move_!" Norrington yelled.

The pirates exploded onto the street and began swarming down it, throwing the entire town into chaos. Fortunately, most of the Company soldiers had stripped off their coats, belts, and put away their weapons to work on salvaging their ships. As no more than a few dozen men were armed, they had little trouble escaping the town limits and making their way down the coastal road towards the beach to the Southwest.

Another mass of pirates seethed out from the alleys, led by Gibbs, Barbossa, and Groves.

"To the warehouses! Quickly now, lest we perish on the voyage home!" Barbossa called.

The pirates fought past the Company soldiers and easily subdued them, spilling onto the waterfront and breaking into the long and low buildings. As other soldiers ran past for their barracks to retrieve their weapons, pirates ran out with crates and barrels on their shoulders, laughing, whooping, and hollering.

"That'll about do it!" Gibbs commented as they watched the mess.

Barbossa smiled and looked down the main street to the coastal road. The soldiers who had been armed from the start were chasing Norrington's men to the beach.

"It appears so, let us depart from this place!" Barbossa nodded, "Mr. Groves, do ensure that the cargo is evenly distributed between the lot of us. That is the way of sharing plunder under The Code."

Groves nodded and began shouting orders at the laden pirates, coordinating their efforts as Barbossa and Gibbs started out of town towards the beach. They spied Jack, Angelica, and Teague as they turned a corner and started down the coastal road as well.

"Now this is more like it..." Teague mentioned as he swept his arm about, "... just like Tortuga."

Jack grinned and Barbossa smiled smugly at Teague's quip.

"So, the rum-runners sailed you here?" Jack asked Angelica as they traveled down the coastal road.

"I captained my own ship here," Angelica replied in a matter-of-fact tone, "getting your own ship isn't as hard when you have... certain assets, Jack."

Jack looked at her with a horrid expression, "Now we really are old flames!"

Angelica smirked, "I didn't use them, if that's what you're implying. I simply... dangled the carrot in front of their nose."

Barbossa chuckled, "It appears ye have the makin' of a true pirate here. All good pirates know how to apply leverage."

The four of them remained silent for a moment as they walked, then Jack put a finger to his lips as he thought of something.

"Just like the time I used Will Turner to get to you!" he exclaimed.

Barbossa stopped limping along and shot Jack a sideways look, his face showing his lack of amusement. Jack grinned sheepishly and kept walking.

"It happens to the best of us, mate!"

Then it was Jack's turn to freeze as he reached a bend of the road and saw the ships at anchor. His _Pearl_ was still there, moored alongside the _Queen Anne's Revenge_, _Bombay_, and _Providence_, which now flew a large black flag from the stern with a white cross on it - the flag of Cornwall. These ships were not what made him freeze; it was the presence of another vessel that made him stop. She was a low and lithe frigate, smaller then the _Providence_ and certainly more ornate. Her hull was black, the whales along her hull painted a dull red to match the red rails. Decorative wooden rings, also red, were set into her hull around her gun ports; her bow and stern were decorated with red and gold.

"She is the _Rosa_," Angelica informed him as she walked past, "lovely ship, twenty-four guns and a fine sea bird."

Jack smiled as they made their way down to the beach, "And you commandeered her where?"

"Commandeered? No. She's always been mine... a gift left to me by my father to be had when I was ready for command," Angelica explained, "she was his first big prize, laid up in ordinary for years in the backwaters of South Carolina. Finding a crew wasn't too hard, not when your father's reputation proceeds you."

They started across the beach as they watched a spectacle unfold before them. The Company soldiers that had chased the landing party from the _Providence_ had laid down their arms. The sight of five well armed ships was enough to make them surrender.

"Captain, we best be off!" Gibbs called to Jack from the surf. A collection of gigs and jolly boats bobbed about, filled with the men and officers of the ships as they prepared to put to sea.

Jack turned to Teague, "Where's your ship?"

Teague looked Jack up and down, "I've given up those days, Jackie. It's time for me to melt into the lore of our realm, for my legacy to step out of my shadow."

Jack cocked his head, "And what might that legacy be? Good luck trying to top some of the sots we've gone up against."

Teague grinned and slowly poked Jack square in the chest, "You, Jackie... you are my legacy."

Jack remained still for a moment, then his eyes widened. For once, he didn't have some slurred line to spew out.

"Now go, go before the Company changes its mind," Teague waved him off, "If you want a pint with your old man, you know where to find me."

"Wherever the rum runs the freest..." Jack murmured, backing away. He spotted soldiers cresting the ridge and turned to run as they poured down the coastal road. They were out of range of musket shot, but they would be soon unless they shoved off now.

"Come on!" Philip shouted from his boat, "Let's go, Jack!"

Jack dashed across the sand, his arms flailing as he splashed into the surf and dove for his boat, "Mr. Gibbs, cast off and make for the _Pearl_!"

The other boats began rowing out through the surf, fighting the breakers as they rolled ashore. Finally, they broke through and bobbed out into calm water, leaving the soldiers reach as they watched from the beach.

"We got 'em, they can't pursue us any further!" Nathaniel exclaimed from his boat.

Barbossa looked down the coast at the distant wharves, then laughed as he realized that the Company had not one ship that wasn't on the harbor's bottom.

"I think we've got what we've come for," Norrington exclaimed, "pull harder, lads!"

"St. Piran's Blade." Nathaniel nodded.

"Fresh supplies!" Gibbs added.

"The makings of the fleet you promised me..." Barbossa gestured to Jack.

"My book!" Angelica affirmed.

"What about me?" Jack asked.

Everyone fell silent and looked to Jack, then slowly nodded as Philip spoke, "And you, Jack."

* * *

><p>The late afternoon sun hung lower in the Western sky, battling noon's blue with evening's yellow. Clouds were beginning to form on the horizon, the sign of another Atlantic storm that would keep the crews of the pirate ships hard at work through the night. The <em>Queen Anne's Revenge<em> led the squadron, followed closely by the _Black Pearl_. In a loose line abreast behind them, the _Bombay_, _Providence_, and _Rosa_ followed.

James Norrington lowered his lens and shut it quietly, looking down at the standing compass before him.

"Alter course a point to starboard, Mr. Rogers." he said quietly.

"One point to starboard, aye." Rogers answered, pulling the wheel over a couple of spokes.

"Isn't it fascinating?" Groves asked quietly as he walked past, "But two months ago she was a legend, more fish than woman. Now she walks amongst us as freely as we can start running."

Norrington looked over his shoulder at Philip and Syrena, who sat on the signal flag locker under the taffrail, looking astern at the ship's wake as it fanned out in the glassy water. She wore a simple skirt of coral-colored fabric with a white shirt and bodice that matched her skirt; her hair fell loosely about her shoulders. Philip had removed his long frock coat and hat and set them on the deck in a heap, his shirt sleeves rolled up and his collar splayed open.

"Does it still hurt?" Syrena asked as she gently took Philip's hand.

"No..." Philip trailed off as she began unwrapping the cloth from around his palm.

She laid the cloth open in her lap and held his hand up, bending over for a closer look. When Philip had snatched the soldier's bayonet to sever Nathaniel's chains, the metal had burned his hand. Because a bayonet was a weapon without a grip and hand guard, designed to lock onto the muzzle of a musket, there was nothing to protect Philip's hand from the metal as it turned white hot in his grip. The Lord's fire was not to be taken lightly; it was so powerful that even the man He chose to wield it had to be careful.

"That is because it is no longer there." Syrena replied with a small smile, holding his hand up so he could see.

"A mermaid's kiss is a powerful thing." Philip mused as she leaned over again and kissed his palm.

"When coupled with love, yes." Syrena added.

They looked at each other for a moment, then Philip reached into the pocket of his weskit.

"I made something for you," he said, extending his hand to her.

Syrena accepted his hand in hers and gently opened it. Inside, resting in his palm, was a small wooden Cross on a hemp necklace. She looked back up, her brow furrowed as she felt the emotion rush through her.

"Philip..." she breathed, "it's beautiful!"

He took the necklace up in his fingers and unfastened it, reaching around her neck and threading the small knot through its eyelet again. Syrena reached up and felt the Cross with her finger, tracing it as it hung down just past her shirt's collar.

"How did you make it?" she asked.

"I carved it myself," he told her, "then had the ship's carpenter sand and stain it."

Syrena's eyes flicked to his and they stared at each other for a moment, a smile creeping onto her lips. She flung herself onto him and wrapped her arms about his neck, feeling his arms wrap about her and his hand cup the back of her head, his fingers running through her hair.

"Philip, I love you." Syrena whispered into his ear.

She drew back and looked into his eyes again, reaching up to touch his face as she leaned in and kissed him softly on the lips. Philip answered, returning the gesture of affection. Then the broke apart as someone coughed.

"What is it, Mr. Norrington?" Philip asked.

"The winds are freshening," he replied, "as much as it pains me to say it, we must start reefing sail and making the ship ready for that storm off the bow. Under normal circumstances I would suggest either striking sail or circumnavigating the gale, but I understand that speed and an unaltered course are paramount... and that God is on our side."

Philip nodded, "Very well, Mr. Norrington. I trust your seamanship."

"I would also suggest that you continue your intimacy below... you wouldn't want to get caught in the coming rain, nor do I want the men gawking." he finished with a wry smile.

Syrena giggled and put her fingertips over Philip's lips, "We will go below, Mr. Norrington."

The two stood and Philip picked up his coat and hat, then they started forward towards the companionway that led below.

"One more thing before you go below, Miss... Syrena," Norrington said after her, "I must commend you. You walk as gracefully now as I am sure you did long ago."

Syrena bowed her head, "Thank you, James."

Norrington nodded to them courteously and clasped his hands behind his back, looking aloft to the flag to gauge the wind's speed before turning and calling orders to Groves and Gillette. Philip put his arm around Syrena as they went below, nearly falling as the _Providence_ suddenly hit a swell. He caught her and held her tightly, smiling as she looked up at him.

"You've come a long way since the last time that happened." he remarked.

She smiled as they went aft to the great cabin, but her mind was on another matter. It was Norrington's last comment before she went below, or, more specifically, how he had addressed her. Surely Philip had heard it as well, that pause as he began with "Miss" and realized she had no surname. It had got her thinking again, wishing he had said "Miss. Swift" accidentally. She wanted to be Miss. Swift, or, more correctly, Mrs. Swift.

They entered the great cabin and Philip hung his frock and hat on pegs by the door, then pulled his baldrick off and set it on a chair as he walked to the table.

"Philip..." Syrena said softly as he looked back at her, "I think we should talk about something."

He furrowed his brow, "About what?"

She approached him slowly. How would she start this? It was a delicate subject to be sure. The matter had the potential to be quite simple and ordinary, yet due to their special circumstances, it was perhaps the most potentially problematic budding romance in history.

"What is it, Syrena?" Philip asked, concern showing in his eyes.

"I think..." she trailed off, looking at the deck, "...I think we both know what you wanted to ask me that night."

Philip sat down on the bench that ran across the stern under the windows, his elbows on his knees as he looked up at her. His face put on an expression of confusion, but his eyes were knowing.

"Philip, please." Syrena said softly as she came over and sat next to him.

Philip sat up and reached across, taking her hand, "You know not how much I want you, not only in affection or companionship, but also in Holy matrimony," he said fervently, "were I the master of myself, things between us would be much different."

Syrena blinked, not quite knowing what to say.

"But I serve a King who has a plan for me, and though our being together would please Him, I do not know if it is what He intends," Philip continued, "believe me, I have prayed... yet I receive no answer."

She squeezed his hand, "Then I will pray too. Let us go before God and plead our case, show Him the potential we have in serving Him together."

Philip licked his lips, then nodded, "Yes..."

She stood, her fingers locked through his, "Now."

Philip stood and followed her to the middle of the cabin, his heart racing. She felt the same desire; this was no flirt with a fleeting romance. Many times in his youth, he had watched Nathaniel and his school mates call on the daughters of their neighbors, the sisters of their friends. They would hold hands, giggle, tell each other that they liked them, then the romance would die as the novelty of affection wore off. All the while, Philip had stood back, watching his peers put more emphasis on these fleeting relationships than everything else in their lives. He had been a popular boy, a friend of many, yet there was a barrier. Girls talked to him, told him he was an amazing boy, sought his advice on finding a gentleman such as himself, yet he did not take their bait. Philip saw the passion his father had for his mother, their marriage that grew more intimate with each passing year. It did not fade like the romances his own generation flirted with. His father had waited, until a suitable time and age, until he was led by God to enter the fray. His mother was the first woman he had loved, and Philip wanted that exclusive passion. Was this a flirtation with love, or was this that exclusively intimate passion that God had saved him for?

Syrena knelt on the deck and Philip joined her, the two of them holding hands as they faced one another. They bowed their heads and closed their eyes, letting the silence wash over them, waiting for God to come.

* * *

><p>"We are here, gentlemen," Barbossa began as he tapped the map with his soiled and unkempt finger, "there be a mere hundred miles 'afore us where the Bahamas await. I have called you aboard to decide on our next plan of action."<p>

The captains of the squadron stood around a table set up on the quarterdeck of the _Queen Anne's Revenge_, a collection of charts spread across it.

"Where do you think Roberts has gone?" Angelica asked.

Jack shot a glance at her and the corners of his mouth turned up, "When he found me, his first mate mentioned Shipwreck Cove."

Barbossa looked across the table at Jack, "Now why would he want to go there, hm?"

"Where's his armada?" Nathaniel asked as he folded his arms across his chest, "I'd start there."

"You cut to the quick," Barbossa said firmly, "Look astern, Captain."

Nathaniel glanced aft at the other ships as they plowed through the water.

"We be a squadron of five in pursuit of a man with the Devil on his side and a supposed armada under his flag.

Nathaniel nodded as he stroked his chin, "Point taken, Captain Barbossa."

Barbossa smiled smugly and Jack spoke playfully, "He much prefers _Commodore_."

"And that brings us to another thing to discuss," Barbossa continued, "You promised me a fleet, Jack, and I want it. Captain Swift, you agreed to sail under my flag, yet I see not the Jolly Roger, but the colors of your home."

"The legend says the stalwart few shall be led by the man armed with fire," Angelica said as she opened her book, "and though it does not say what kind of fire, I think it is safe to say that the legend refers to St. Piran's Blade."

Barbossa narrowed his eyes, "Do ye now? What be more potent in battle? A fiery sword or a ship armed with Greek fire?"

Nathaniel's eyes flicked to Barbossa and back to Angelica, "That's a rather ambiguous point. Though Greek fire may devastate ships, can it kill the man who's realm burns?"

Jack grinned, "Aye! I think the Clergyman's sword is more dangerous to Roberts. Why would he seek the sword over the _Revenge_?"

"According to what must happen," Angelica finished, "you will lead us, Philip."

Everyone looked to Philip, who had remained silent for the duration of the meeting. He swept his eyes over them, sensing their support for his command of the squadron... save Barbossa.

"You devious man..." Barbossa grimaced, "... you played me."

"Like a fiddle!" Jack exclaimed.

Barbossa shot Jack a glaring look and Jack's grin vanished, then Philip nodded.

"I'm sorry, Captain Barbossa, but I needed you to find Jack, who I thought would know where to start going about this crusade."

"Impressive, brother," Nathaniel nodded with an arched brow, "well done. And might I say it's come together rather perfectly!"

Philip saw it too. In his search for Jack Sparrow, God had led Jack into company with the Devil's man, both leading Philip to St. Piran's Blade and blowing Roberts' cover.

"Now, Captain Barbossa, I beseech you," Philip continued, "sail with us. Your sword possesses a power over this ship that can help us win the battle... we need all the ships we can get."

"I'm not inclined to acquiesce you request," Barbossa replied sharply, "It appears your sword is all you need."

"Hector, we're past personal gain," Jack pleaded, "even I realize that."

Barbossa turned his attention to Jack, making him cringe, "It is no longer personal gain that motivates me. I'll not be played any longer. Get off my ship, the lot of you, or I'll turn my fire on you... we'll see how your sword stands against that."

Angelica looked to the rest, a finger twirling through her hair.

"Do what he says," Philip said to them, "Captain, the decision to sail with us is yours. You are under no obligation."

Barbossa nodded, "You have that right, _Commodore_, now be of. If I bring my guns to bear your ship will be the first to go."

Everyone started walking away from the table and heading down towards the entry port, looking over their shoulders as Philip spoke after them.

"I support Captain Sparrow's suggestion," he said, "given our circumstances, we need all the ships we can get. We'll sail for Shipwreck Cove to enlist the aid of the Brethren Court."

The other captains nodded as they started climbing over the side to their boats. As Philip followed he looked up at Barbossa where he stood on the quarterdeck, seeing the anger on his face. He had hoped this wouldn't happen. Though the legend did say a stalwart few would stand up to the Devil, he felt four ships was too few. He wondered if he was somehow in the midst of Revelation. Was the coming fight the Battle of Armageddon? It couldn't be; the other prophesies were not showing themselves, nor did the Caribbean fit the Bible's description of where the final battle would take place. Even if it wasn't the field of Armageddon they sailed for, he felt as though he were doing so.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> Yeah, things are getting crazy! I hope you all enjoyed this chapter, especially those of you who were wanting more of Philip and Syrena's romance.


	10. Chapter 10

**Author's Note:** Again, there are some larger chunks in this chapter, but there are a lot of big things starting to happen now... this is the preparation for the coming storm!

* * *

><p>THE DEVIL'S WORK<p>

Philip stood by the windward rail, his hair whipping about as a gust blew up off the water's surface. The wooden rail felt smooth under his hands, as if the _Providence_ were warming to him like a love-struck girl. Since taking command, he had begun to feel a bond developing between him and this ship. He knew her rigging, her decks, every part of her becoming more familiar. Now he came topside, spotting that chink in the frame of the companionway or the knots in the deck that made the shape of a teardrop. After sailing across the Atlantic and back, he now understood Jack's attachment to the _Black Pearl_ and why Nathaniel had so many stories to tell.

However, his love for the _Providence_ was surpassed by two, the first and most intimate being his love for his Divine Creator, the second being for the woman of two worlds who stood behind him. Syrena came up to him, wrapping her arms around his waist and resting her head against his back, looking down the length of the ship's deck at the crew going about their work.

"Have you been to Shipwreck Cove before?" Philip asked.

Syrena shook her head, "No. I never swam this far from Whitecap Bay."

She slid around him, ducking under his arm so it wrapped about her shoulders. Together they looked at the mountainous island, watching the gulls climb and dive about the coastline. There was a deep, plunking splash as the _Providence's_ anchor was let go and the cable ran out to let it to the bottom. Since Barbossa had left their company with his ship, the _Providence_ had taken the lead of the squadron's formation, followed closely by Jack and Angelica's ships and trailed by Nathaniel. Now they were anchoring in a line abreast, the _Providence_ pointing inland while the other three kept their broadsides trained out to the open horizon. Roberts lurked somewhere in these waters, and Norrington had warned the squadron to keep a sharp eye.

"The gig awaits you, Commodore." Gillette spoke up.

Syrena and Philip looked over, breaking away from each other as Philip accepted the baldrick, coat, and hat that Gillette carried.

"Do you want to come with me in the boat or will you accompany us in your element?" Philip asked her.

Syrena shot a glance over the rail, "I think I will row ashore with you."

Norrington paused as he passed, "Pardon the intrusion, but I suggest you swim ashore, Syrena."

They looked to him as Philip began putting on his things and Gillette walked away.

"You possess an ability that few have... it could serve our cause well," Norrington suggested, "If you swim ahead and take a look in the anchorage, we would know if it's safe or if Roberts awaits with his guns brought to bear."

Syrena looked to Philip and they nodded to each other.

"He's right, I will swim." Syrena decided.

Norrington bowed his head and strode off, leaving Philip and Syrena alone again.

"I will be off then," Philip said, "See you ashore."

"Wait." Syrena said quickly.

She grabbed the skirts of his frock and held them up in front of her like a curtain, then Philip saw her intention and took it from her hand. As he held it up she unlaced her bodice, stripped off her shirt, and took off her dress. One of the sailors working nearby noticed and stared at the clothes collecting on the deck, then shook his head and looked back to his task as Philip gave him a look. Then Syrena climbed over the rail, covering her nakedness as best she could.

"I love you." she said, kissing Philip quickly on the cheek before jumping over the ship's side.

She plunged down into the water feet first, sinking far below the surface like a harpoon. Bubbles engulfed her, tickling her skin as she kicked back towards the surface. She kicked with her feet pressed together, smiling as she felt her legs become her tail once more. When she broke the surface she looked over to where Philip's gig waited, smiling and biting back a laugh as the gig's crew gawked at her.

"Oh don't tell me you aren't used to it by now!" she teased the men in the boat, splashing some water at them with her hand.

The men grinned and chuckled amongst themselves as Philip climbed over the side and down the rungs to the boat. Once he was aboard and sat in the stern, Rogers nodded to the crew.

"Right boys, off we go." he commanded.

The boat pushed off from the frigate's side and the oars dropped down into the water, stirring it as they pulled for the fjord between the cliffs. Nearby Jack's boat cut across the water, grouping up with Angelica's launch and Nathaniel's jolly boat to wait for Philip.

"Do what you do best." Philip said, pointing towards the fjord.

Syrena nodded and ducked under the surface, putting her arms out in front of her with one hand over the other. She kicked hard and felt the water start to rush past as she rocketed towards the island. The water below her was still deep enough for the bottom to hide from her eyes, fading off into a murky blueish green speckled with tiny plankton and bits of vegetation.

When she surfaced again she nearly kicked back in shock. Shipwreck Cove was quite a sight. The fjord she had passed through was just large enough for a ship to pass through, opening into what could best be described as a hole in the center of the island. The cliffs rose up all around, and from what she could see underwater when she swam in, it was a deep anchorage. A pile of old, wrecked ships rose up out of the center of the anchorage, stacking together in a seemingly perilous structure. Rope bridges and scaffolding had been constructed throughout the wreckage, connecting the gutted interiors of one ship to the next.

This was not what made Syrena jump in shock. It was the smoldering remains of ships encircling the shipwreck town. Bodies drifted across the water in all directions amongst shards of railing, barrels, and splintered sections of masts. As she looked around, she realized that she didn't see a single living soul. Syrena looked over her shoulder and started gliding across the water as Philip's boat rounded the bend in the fjord, stopping as the crew beheld the scene and forgot what they were doing.

"Poor buggers..." a _Providence_ man murmured as Syrena reached Philip's boat. By now the others had arrived and stopped to stare at the scene as well.

"Now we know why Roberts was sailing for Shipwreck Cove," Philip said to Jack, "he was looking to wipe out potential opponents."

Jack removed his hat and stood in his boat, rendering a kind of two fingered salute of respect for the dead. Angelica stood and followed his example as Nathaniel looked to Philip from his boat.

"Bartholomew Roberts did this?" he asked, "Brother, even if God is on our side... our work is cut out for us."

Philip looked down at Syrena as she bobbed over and pulled herself up over the gunwale, resting her arms over the edge. She could see the genuine sadness in his eyes, how close he was to openly weeping.

"There is no one left alive?" he asked her.

Syrena looked down at the bottom of his boat, "No..."

"Right everyone, we'll salvage what we can," Philip announced, "Nathaniel, I would see about finding some guns for the _Bombay_, she won't do us any good in the coming battle unarmed."

Nathaniel's jaw set, "I'll see to it. I think twenty-six guns should do; eight pounders."

Jack nodded, "A good armament, mate. The _Pearl_ mounts eight pounders."

"There are so many dead, Philip," Syrena said forlornly, "too many to count."

"There have to be at least fifteen hundred." Angelica mused as her boat rowed past, bumping through the drifting flotsam.

"Move quickly!" Philip called as the boats began to go about their own ways through the death-ridden anchorage, "We sail for Tortuga at nightfall."

"What will you do?" Syrena asked Philip.

He shook his head, "I don't know. I just might return to the _Providence_ to stand watch while the rest conduct their business."

"Syrena, I'd be obliged if you could help me," Nathaniel called as he picked through the wreckage, "seein' as my ship is unarmed, I only have enough small arms for two boats. I'll be needin' enough weapons, shot, and powder to make my ship ready for war... and you're able to dive to the harbor's bottom."

Syrena nodded as she got his request, "I'll do it. Just don't drift too far away, or I won't be able to find you."

Nathaniel nodded to her as she dove below, her tail flashing above the surface.

"It's a good thing Mother and Father died," Nathaniel said to Philip across the water, "I don't know how you would explain that tail of hers to them."

Philip cocked his head in surprise, "You know Father would be as fascinated and accepting as I... and who are you to make such a comment at this time?"

Nathaniel put his hands up in defense, "Brother, I only try to make light of this situation... sometimes it's all a man can do to stay sane."

Philip looked down and nodded, realizing it was indeed his brother's way. They continued to pick through the wreckage, retrieving what they could. Jack and Angelica made off with materials that could be used for repairs, anticipating the carnage of the coming battle. Nathaniel and Syrena worked feverishly to find cutlasses, pikes, hatchets, and even musketoons on the seabed. The crew of the _Bombay_ brought in the larger gig and began hauling guns from one of the partially submerged ships two at a time. In the meantime, Philip returned to the _Providence_ to keep at least one ship ready to sound the alarm, should Roberts appear on the horizon. After their scavenging was complete, the squadron set sail for the coming night, heading towards the island of Tortuga. They needed numbers on their side, and if Shipwreck Cove was unable to provide, then Tortuga could.

* * *

><p>There was no question now that Roberts possessed a power far beyond anything that even the Royal Navy could not match. He had sailed from Cornwall two days before Philip's company had arrived, then gained another two days while Jack was broken out of the Tower of London. By the time the squadron had escaped from the heart of the British Empire and sailed back across the Atlantic, Roberts had already been four days in the Caribbean. In those four days he had obliterated the Brethren Court's stronghold at Shipwreck Cove, a fortress that the East India Company could not break. During the day's journey from the devastation there to Tortuga, the squadron of four had encountered half a dozen wrecked or burning ships... or the flotsam of what once was a ship. Roberts was terrorizing the Caribbean to a measure beyond the wildest dreams of the cruelest of pirates, turning the region into a living Hell on earth.<p>

Nothing confirmed it more than the sight on the dark horizon, which had put the approaching squadron into a silence. There were no calls, no bells, no whistles or shanties... only the groan of the hulls and the creak of the taunt rigging.

"I've never seen such devastation," Gibbs murmured, "not in all my years at sea."

Jack's eyes were saddened as he looked at the glow on the horizon. There was no mistake about it, they had reached Tortuga... or at least what was left of it. Flames rose above the island and cast a glow onto a pillar of smoke that reached to the heavens. Though they were miles distant, they could hear the thunder of collapsing buildings and exploding stores of powder in the coastal batteries.

Angelica too gazed at the sight from the _Rosa_, her arms folded across her chest. One of her hands reached up and traced the Cross about her neck, her lips moving in silence as she prayed for those who had undoubtedly lost their lives.

"I'm sure a Spaniard has never seen such a destructive sight, not even after our armada was crushed by Elizabeth's Divine Wind." her first mate said quietly.

Angelica shot a glance at him, "Loose the gallants."

He bowed his head and looked to the deck, "Hands aloft and loose the gallants. Lively now! Rápido!"

The four ships quickly closed with the island, standing inshore and laboring up to the harbor's mouth. All the while the glow became brighter and the sounds of the fire's destruction more intense. As the _Providence_ and _Black Pearl_ rounded the point and began entering the harbor, the men aboard both ships beheld a ship they had seen before.

"It's the _Flying Dutchman_!" a voice aloft in the _Providence's_ crosstrees cried.

Norrington looked back at Philip and arched a brow, "Permission to run out the guns, Commodore. Given the circumstances regarding our enemy, who knows who stands at the wheel of that ship."

Philip nodded, "Permission granted. Signal the others and have them follow our example."

The squadron slowly entered Tortuga's harbor, their sails shortening and their gun ports opening warily, much like a man slows his pace and pulls back the hammer of his gun. The entire port city of Tortuga was in flames, by now mostly a heap of ashes and smoldering timbers strewn across the coast. Embers rose like millions of stars in the night sky and the heat was so intense that it blurred the silhouette of the _Flying Dutchman_ as she rode at her anchor cable in the middle of the harbor. Her sails were furled and her yards lowered.

"She means no harm," Syrena murmured as she approached Philip, "Captain Turner is attending to his duty."

Norrington looked back over his shoulder from where he stood next to Philip, who nodded.

"I thought as much. But in times like these, I do trust Mr. Norrington's military expertise." Philip told her.

"Captain Swift!" a familiar voice shouted.

Syrena came to the rail next to Philip and looked over with him. William Turner had emerged from the water and was climbing up the rungs on the _Providence's_ side to the entry port.

"Captain Turner," Philip called back, "What's happened here?"

Turner stepped through the entry port and nodded to the crew of the _Providence_, "Bartholomew Roberts has unleashed his fury."

"We just sailed from Shipwreck Cove," Norrington reported, "it too has been wiped out."

"I know..." Turner said sadly, his eyes casting down to the deck, "Roberts wreaks so much havoc that I cannot keep up with it all."

By now the boats from the other ships were rowing over and Jack called up from his jolly boat.

"William Turner, is that you, you salty dog?" he called.

"It's been a while, Jack!" Turner shouted back, "You got the _Pearl_ back I see."

Jack quickly ascended the ship's side and stepped onto the deck, "Much has happened, young William, though I suspect that you are... in the loop."

Turner nodded, "That I am, Jack. I am glad to see you've found the right side."

The other captains soon climbed aboard the _Providence_ and Jack gestured to Turner, "This is William Turner, Captain of the _Flying Dutchman_."

Angelica and Nathaniel nodded to him.

"These are all the ships you managed to scrape together?" Turner asked them.

Philip looked about at the other captains, nodding, "We originally had one more, Captain Barbossa of the _Queen Anne's Revenge_, but he left our company recently."

Turner looked to Philip, "You're going to need more ships, Commodore."

"Are there any other havens where we might find captains willing to sail with us?" Philip asked.

Turner shook his head, "I know of no others, and even if there were, they would be in flames. What's more, I cannot imagine any other captain here in the Caribbean who would volunteer to fight an armada from Hell."

Everyone remained silent for a moment, then Jack's eyes widened, "When the _Pearl_ was taken by Blackbeard, he used his voodoo powers to shrink her and put her in a bottle."

The others looked to him as Jack grinned. A sly smile crept onto Angelica's face as she too realized what Jack had thought of.

"My ship wasn't the only one Blackbeard took. When Gibbs and I made our deal with Barbossa to get my ship back... Mr. Gibbs took the liberty of relieving Barbossa of Blackbeard's entire bottled ship collection."

"Where is it, Jack?" Angelica asked zealously.

"Safely aboard the _Pearl_." Jack nodded.

Angelica's sly smile broke out into a big grin, "Jack, there has to be at least a hundred ships in that collection!"

"Now how did you get the _Black Pearl_ out of her bottle?" Nathaniel asked, furrowing his brow.

"Bartholomew Roberts did." Jack replied.

There was a moment of silence before Nathaniel continued, "How will we get the other ships in Blackbeard's collection out of their bottles?"

Philip looked to Turner, who shook his head, "I may be able to raise ships from their watery graves, but Blackbeard's voodoo power is something I cannot undo myself."

"Then there are two people who can restore our ships," Jack spoke, "Bartholomew Roberts and Hector Barbossa."

"Barbossa?" Angelica asked.

Jack nodded, "Barbossa has the sword, and he who has the sword can control the _Revenge_. I assume Blackbeard used the sword's voodoo power to trap his prizes in their bottles..."

"Therefore he who has the sword has the power to restore them," Turner finished, "Good thinking, Jack."

"You'd be amazed at how much good thinking I do," Jack gestured, "People too often consider my ideas foolish or insane."

"Aren't they?" Turner shot back.

Jack looked about, then sheepishly nodded, "I guess I am one who survives on foolish ideas and insane plans."

The rest nodded in agreement and Philip folded his arms across his chest, "Barbossa left our company and Roberts is our foe... how do you suppose we get either of them to spring our ships from their bottles?"

Syrena finally spoke up, who had been standing close behind Philip the entire time, "Did you not promise Barbossa a fleet, Captain Sparrow?"

Jack nodded and Syrena continued, "Find Barbossa... promise him that after this is finished, the ships sprung from their bottles shall be his."

Jack pointed at Syrena, "You, Syrena, are a brilliant mermaid."

Syrena's lips curled up into a shy smile as Philip looked down at her, "A capital idea, Syrena."

Norrington, who had gravitated to the fringe of the circle in silence, spoke, "Though we do not know what will happen to the Armada of the Damned, promise him that if we are able to capture ships as prizes, they too will be thrown in."

Everyone looked to Norrington and Turner spoke, "While I am willing to trust Barbossa to uphold his end of a deal, I am not sure that I fancy the idea of him inheriting an armada when this endeavor is over."

"I don't think many will sail away from this coming engagement," Norrington replied, "I've seen fleet actions, Captain Turner. They're messy affairs... and that's between gentlemanly navies. I can only begin to imagine the carnage that will unfold between two pirate fleets."

"I hardly consider us pirates," Philip looked over his shoulder, "for we sail in the name of the King of Kings."

"Then what would you call us?" Angelica asked.

"Crusaders," Philip replied firmly, "I am Captain Philip Swift of His Holy Majesty's Ship _Providence_ and Commodore of the Crusaders."

Syrena laid her head against Philip's arm and squeezed it as Nathaniel grinned.

"I like that. Sounds a might better than the East India Company in my book!"

"Back to another issue," Norrington spoke again, "Where is Barbossa?"

Angelica nodded to the group, "I will find him. This negotiation requires someone of credibility, and out of the lot of us, I think I have the strongest chances of success with him."

Jack looked to her, "But it's my promise."

"Jack, Barbossa tolerates you, he probably hates both of you Swifts, and has too common a history with Turner. If any of us has an inkling of respect as a fellow pirate, it is me. Barbossa even commented on it." Angelica explained.

Norrington nodded, "She is right. I support her decision."

"Are you one of the deciding captains?" Jack asked him.

"As Commodore of the squadron, I name James Norrington my Flag-Captain." Philip countered.

Norrington's face barely twinged at the announcement, no doubt doing his best to cover his elation over the appointment, "I am honored, Commodore Swift."

Turner grinned, "I too cast my vote for Captain..."

"Teach." Angelica answered.

"You're Blackbeard's daughter?" Turner asked in surprise, "Jack... you fell in love with Blackbeard's daughter?"

Jack sheepishly grinned, "I swear, I thought she was a prostitute!"

"We'll save that for another time. My vote goes to Captain Teach."

"I need more time to finish arming the _Bombay_," Nathaniel announced, "I can't go off looking for Barbossa. Teach has my vote too."

"That's the fair majority, Jack," Philip said, "Captain Teach, you will go."

"You'll be needing this then!" Jack told her, tossing over his compass.

Angelica nodded as Turner spoke, "Good, you won't need it for our next destination anyway."

Everyone looked to Turner as he looked them each in the eye, "To find the Armada of the Damned... that's where Roberts will be."

"And where might the Armada be kept?" Norrington asked.

"Isla Sirena." Turner said.

Philip felt Syrena press closer against him and sensed she knew what it was.

"Isla Sirena lies just off the shores of Purgatory in The Locker," Turner explained, "Davy Jones made it for his sirens to inhabit, a tantalizing reminder to those locked below of the women they could no longer have. He also gave the island the power to manifest itself in both worlds, to lure sailors and their ships to its shoals."

Syrena spoke up again, "You think the Armada is there?"

Turner nodded, "It is an island that cannot be found... and because those who run afoul of it never return, nobody already knows where it is."

Jack looked down to the deck, as did Norrington. Judging by the tone of Turner's statement, Philip guessed there was some past adventure that took them to a similar mystical island.

"Then how do we find it?"

"It finds you," Angelica said, looking up from her opened ledger, "though there is one clue as to where to go in order to be found."

Everyone looked to Angelica, making her arch a brow at having such attention.

"In order to be found by the Isla Sirena, a man must lose himself where no compass can help him."

Jack grinned as Angelica shut the ledger, "Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, we must sail... into the Bermuda Triangle!"

Nathaniel put his fists on his hips and arched a brow, "Don't tell me you honestly believe that."

"And you call yourself a sailor?" Jack asked back in surprise.

"I'm a businessman whose trade happens to necessitate the frequent use of ships." he replied.

Philip arched a brow, "Do you really intend to return to smuggling, brother?"

Nathaniel began to speak, but Norrington cut him off, "The last time I questioned Jack Sparrow's belief's in lore, I soon found myself in the midst of it. I daresay that I've learned not to question myth and legend... and as such I expect we will soon be in the middle of the Triangle scanning the shores of this island with our lenses."

Jack nodded, "See? A fast learner!"

"Right, well I think it is time to act," Philip announced, "there's nothing left for us here. Captain Teach, find Barbossa and try to cut him a deal. When you get his answer, shut that compass and chart your course for the Bermuda Triangle... hopefully we'll all wind up together."

Angelica nodded and started for the entry port, stepping down over the side as Turner looked to Syrena.

"Before we sail, there's something else you should know," he said, "they don't have ships, but their offer of an alliance with us is something I wouldn't turn down."

Turner stepped back to the rail and Syrena followed. When they looked over they saw heads and shoulders bobbing in the water. Even in the glow of a burning Tortuga, Alexandra's fiery hair was hard to miss.

"Syrena," Alexandra called, "come down from that deck to your home world."

Philip approached, holding up the skirts of his frock again as she undressed. Then Syrena jumped over the side and into the water, quickly returning to her mermaid form as she bobbed back to the surface.

"What that man did to Tortuga is terrible," Alexandra said passionately, "and now I see why you are with these men."

Syrena looked up the ship's side at Philip, "You have heard the legend?"

"Yes."

"I am the mermaid who fell in love," Syrena explained, "and Philip is the Lord's man."

Alexandra nodded, "I can see that now. Syrena, there are not many of us, but we are willing to swim amongst you and fight for your cause."

By now Philip had stepped through the entry port and climbed down the rungs of the _Providence's_ side, stopping above the waterline to speak to them.

"It is not our cause that you must join, but God's," he told her, "I cannot promise you, given whose side we are on, that this will be an easy victory... but you will inherit eternal life in coming to Christ and serving Him."

Alexandra looked back at the other mermaids, "When Lamia left to join the Sirens, some of us stayed behind. In our doing so, we have made our decision. We are ready to serve God."

"You... all of you... accept Jesus Christ as your Lord and Savior?" Philip asked.

The Tortuga Mermaids nodded from their places about the water, some saying yes while others bowed their heads in reverence.

"You believe that He is the Son of God, that He came down to this earth to die for your sins, that He resurrected from the dead, and that He ascended into Heaven where He sits on the right hand of God the Father Almighty?"

"Yes." Alexandra said along with her sisters.

Philip and Syrena smiled, "Welcome to the Navy of the Lord."

Syrena drifted up to Alexandra and they embraced, then Philip continued, "You should know that there are other mermaids with us. They are en route from Cornwall with reinforcements and will be here soon."

"How many?" Alexandra asked.

"There are nearly two hundred with the Charles Town Mermaids and another two dozen with the Guardians of St. Piran's Blade," Syrena told her, "but there are apparently hundreds of mermaids along the Cornish coast."

Alexandra looked to them, her eyebrows raised in joy as a smile crept onto her face, "Excellent!"

Philip nodded, "We will soon sail for the Bermuda Triangle to be found by the Isla Sirena. Alexandra, I need you to find the others before they get here and bring them to the Triangle."

"I will do so with pleasure," Alexandra replied, "Godspeed, Philip."

He waved her off as she turned and swam away, bringing a handful of mermaids with her. The rest looked to Syrena.

"You will come with us," Syrena told them, then looked to Philip, "I will swim with them."

Philip started back up to the entry port, "I'll see you at Isla Sirena!"

Syrena started swimming away from the _Providence_, waving her arm for the other mermaids left behind to follow. Philip watched them vanish below the surface and stepped back onto the deck, looking to the others.

"They've joined us; Alexandra swims to bring the rest to the Triangle and Syrena departs for our destination as we speak." Philip announced.

Turner nodded, "Good, let's be off then... regardless of whether Angelica succeeds in recruiting Barbossa again, we have to confront Roberts."

Everyone else murmured and nodded, then Jack looked to Turner, "Glad to have you with us, mate."

Turner smiled, "It's good to sail in your company again, Jack. Just like old days."

Nathaniel grinned as he leaned against the rail, waiting for the rest to climb back over the side to their boats.

"You don't suppose another man can fall in love with another mermaid?" he asked.

Philip looked to his brother, "What do you mean?"

"I always thought red headed women were attractive..." he replied with a grin, "but now, I don't know... I think red headed mermaids are more attractive."

Philip gave Nathaniel a look and shook his head, a smile breaking onto his face, "You'd best return to your ship, brother."

Nathaniel laughed and moved for the entry port, "Aye, aye, Commodore!"

Nathaniel climbed down to his gig and Philip watched as the other captains rowed back to their ships. The sight made him straighten up as he realized how monumental it was. Tortuga was burning, a squadron of God-fearing men had been assembled, an alliance with Saved mermaids had been forged, and now they were embarking on a voyage into the unknown. Surely this was how many famous men felt on the eve of changing history.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> And now the stalwart few, commanded by he who wields the Lord's fire, sail for their appointment for destiny. It is time to meet Roberts and his Armada of the Damned! I hope you enjoyed this calm before the storm! As always, I am appreciative for your comments and reviews and look forward to what you have to say about this chapter!


	11. Chapter 11

**Author's Note:** Sorry this one took a little longer to upload... we're getting into some climatic stuff now and I wanted to ensure I got this right. Chapter twelve should come rather naturally... I've been thinking about it for a while and it's the kind of content I live for! As always, enjoy!

* * *

><p>LOST AND FOUND<p>

The sea continued to surprise Philip, despite the latest turns his life had taken. All around him everything was still. The seas were dead, the winds absent, and the sky cloudless. The sun burned so hot that it put a golden hue on everything, throwing a haze over the horizon that put the crew of the _Providence_ in a general malaise. The finishing touch on the atmosphere of this general uneasiness was the fact that the standing compass no longer worked. When Norrington had Groves or Gillette check it, they reported that the needle spun about randomly, slowing, pausing, and changing direction.

Even Philip had fallen ill with this discomfort. Though the ship's navigational tools were useless, he was used to trusting God and taking steps of faith. He was doing so now, but he felt he was walking into the unknown missing something. Syrena had not come back aboard in Tortuga, opting to lead her sister mermaids into the Triangle ahead of the squadron as to have them arrive at the same time. Since she was not aboard, he felt he was missing his right hand, his other half, part of his soul... these physical examples could not begin to describe the emptiness he felt. Yes, he still felt God, but God's gift to him was not present.

"What is the temperature, Mr. Gillette?" Norrington asked nearby as he stripped off his frock.

Gillette, who had already removed his frock and left it below in his cabin, bent over to look at a thermometer hung on the side of the standing compass.

"Thirty-five degrees." Gillette reported wistfully.

Norrington looked down at the deck as he clasped his hands behind his back, "I see now... why so many vanish in these waters. No wind or current... excruciating heat. I am fairly certain that many men die trying to kedge themselves out of these waters, starving and dehydrated."

Groves licked his lips as he approached, "Speaking of which, we've spent half of our water stores."

Philip turned from the rail to face his officers, "Given the nature of the Isla Sirena, I assume that it will manifest itself when most of the men aboard have reached their wits end."

Norrington's lips tightened as he looked up to his Commodore, his eyes dark with the realization. The other two nodded in agreement. They had been in the Bermuda Triangle for almost a week now, and already the heat had caused much of the water stores to be spent. Norrington had put the crew on half rations to prolong their supplies, but then they began to fall ill with the heat. When Philip held officer calls and spoke with the other captains, they reported the same. Turner's crew were unaffected, what being immortal in their service aboard the _Flying Dutchman_, but Jack and Nathaniel faced the same problems Philip did. Already, Nathaniel had flogged a man for breaking into the _Bombay's_ water stores, and once one man had tried, Philip, Nathaniel, Norrington, and Jack were certain they were close to more problems.

"Do you think there is a way for us to feint worse conditions and lure the Isla Sirena into manifestation?" Groves asked suddenly.

The others looked to him and Philip arched a brow, "What would you do, Mr. Groves?"

"Have the crew act delirious, doing irrational things, even faking a mutiny." Groves suggested.

Norrington stepped over to Groves, "An excellent idea, Mr. Groves. The Isla Sirena is like a dog... we have to give it fear to smell."

"Captain Norrington, form the crew and signal the other captains to lay alongside," Philip ordered, "It's time to play the Devil's game."

Norrington bowed his head and strode off as Philip turned back to the rail and looked into the haze. He closed his eyes as he gripped the rail, his lips moving as he spoke to God.

Soon the crew was assembled, listening to Norrington as he explained their plan to them. Meanwhile, Philip stood by the rail, his hands cupped to his mouth as he shouted across the Jack.

"Pass the word along to Captain Swift!" Philip called, "We have to try or we'll surely die of thirst out here!"

Jack grinned from the quarterdeck of the _Pearl_, then started passing orders along to Gibbs in his quirky way, his arms flailing about. Philip turned from the rail. He felt an air of command over the situation, realizing that God was bringing him into the fight on the upper hand. Roberts would think his squadron was near calamity, mutiny, and disbandment, but such was not the case.

The hours of heat and desperation continued, only adding to the show the squadron was putting on. Men laid about the deck, telling off officers as they tried to give them fake orders. Two fights broke out on the _Bombay_, leading Nathaniel to lock them below. Then, shouting started as the crew of the _Black Pearl_ condemned Jack for following Philip into such folly, threatening to tie cannonballs to his boots and throw him overboard. This disarray kept on through the afternoon until the sun started to dip towards sunset, then something extraordinary happened.

Philip sat on the signal flag locker under the taffrail, his elbows on his knees as he stared at the deck. The wind brushed over his neck gently and pushed the loose strands of hair at his temple in front of his face. He reached up and tucked them behind his ear, then looked up as he realized there was wind.

The haze was beginning to burn off the horizon, collecting into a fog bank that hid before them to the Northeast. Clouds started to appear in the sky, growing in size and density as the crews looked about in bewilderment.

"Steady lads," Philip spoke quickly as he strode forward from the stern, "keep up your games lest they find us out."

The men continued to lark about the decks, watching the weather as it changed. For nearly an hour the fog ahead of them thickened and the clouds overhead collected, then a shout came from above.

"Land, three points off the starboard bow!"

Philip looked in the direction of the fog bank and set his jaw as he spied jungle-covered peaks above it. By now, the wind had strengthened and the squadron was making way, slowly approaching the fog bank and the island hidden in it.

"I think its found us..." Gillette murmured as he peered through a lens, "... the Isla Sirena."

The officers of the _Providence_ watched as the fog continued to dissipate, revealing more of the island that only an hour before had not been there. It was mountainous, covered in lush green palms and filled with undergrowth. Along the coast, the terrain flattened and transitioned into a broad beach of sand dotted with the occasional boulder. Murmurs began running through the crew as they pulled out their pocket telescopes and spied nearly naked women lounging about them.

"Sirens..." Norrington said quietly, wariness in his voice, "I pray they have not begun to infatuate the men."

Philip looked across to the _Black Pearl_, spotting Jack at the bow with his own glass opened. Gibbs was saying something into his ear and waving off the crew as they tried to get a better look for themselves. Then, Jack lowered his lens and looked towards Philip, and though he could not see his facial expression, his body language showed his grim demeanor well enough. Philip looked back to the island and tensed at what he saw. The island had a peninsula that extended out to the West, creating a wall of sharp mountains. Behind it he could see hundreds of topmasts, so many that they gave the appearance of trees growing along the crest of the ridge. Even the peninsula could not hide them all; many more ships were anchored further out in the open water, dotting the horizon so that it could barely be seen.

"Is that the Armada of the Damned?" Groves asked in surprise, "I don't think I've ever seen such a collection... not even back home in Britain!"

Philip looked to Norrington, "Signal the squadron and have them strike sail. We'll moor off the coast and row ashore."

Norrington lowered his lens and shut it, "May I inquire as to why you desire to go ashore?"

"Captain, aren't there other ways to attack enemy ships, especially while they are at anchor?" Philip asked, "If they are unaware of our presence, which I presume for they are not out in the open to engage us, then should we not attempt to catch them in their anchorage?"

Norrington's brow arched and his mouth slightly turned up in a cunning smile, "You think like a true tactician, Commodore."

"Do you think there are shore batteries? I've read of fighting sailors rowing ashore, capturing coastal guns, and turning them on ships at anchor." Philip spoke.

"I doubt it," Norrington replied, "This isn't Europe."

"We should still investigate," Philip nodded, "Even if we can discretely capture one ship... we can... blow it up to damage others, turn its guns on the rest, something."

"Might I suggest burning it?" Groves entered the conversation, "If we cut its anchor cables and cast it adrift into the rest, the fires will spread rapidly."

"Fight fire with fire." Norrington nodded.

"Launch the boats," Philip nodded, "We row ashore as soon as we've dropped anchor."

* * *

><p>Philip jumped out of the boat and into the surf, sloshing ashore as the other captains did the same. The beach ran up from the surf about a hundred meters before reaching dense jungle overlooked by bent palms. He couldn't see far into the trees, but he felt they were safe enough in the open. Down the beach where the boulders laid about, the Sirens had begun to watch them. They did not leave their reclined positions, but rather began to sing to the men.<p>

"At least mermaids can't run after you on land..." Jack said warily as he approached, "what do you have in mind, Clergyman?"

"We're going to capture one of their ships and burn it," Philip replied, "hopefully we can even the odds if we set some of their fleet afire."

Jack nodded, "Good idea. I'll cover you."

"So they aren't going to run and sound the alarm?" Nathaniel asked as he arrived, "I thought Sirens were daemonic creatures."

"They would have run to alert the fleet long ago if that was their way," Philip replied, "They want us to come ashore, so we will play their game."

"What if that's exactly what they want?" Nathaniel asked further, "To lure the captains and some of the crew from their ships?"

"Then ships would already be making preparation to sail," Turner spoke as he sloshed up out of the water, "A fleet like that will take hours to get organized for battle in open water."

Jack turned to Pintel and Ragetti, "Right, mates..."

The four captains started down the beach towards the peninsula, their landing parties trailing behind them. They spread across the beach, spanning from the surf to the tree line as they neared the boulders and the Sirens lounging on them.

"Are you tired and thirsty?" one of them called in a smooth voice.

Philip shot a glance at Jack and looked back to the Siren, "You have no idea. Is there water on this island?"

The Siren slid down from the rock and sauntered towards them. She wore a white flowing garment reminiscent of antiquity that barely covered her private anatomy. The landing party slowed as the other Sirens, dressed in similar cloths, followed.

"Of course..." she replied with an arched brow, "I know where it is. Come with us, we will help you."

The Siren turned and Philip eyed Jack and Nathaniel, giving him a nod.

"Who are you?" the Siren asked.

Philip wondered what to say. Should he lie to them? Perhaps he was a Don sailing for the Catholic Church, striving to wipe out all sacrilegious legends on the earth. Or did she already know? If he lied, she might see he still had his wits about him.

"I am Antonio de la Vega," Philip replied, "sailing in the charge of the Holy Spanish Empire."

"You don't look very Spanish!" a voice called from the trees.

Everyone stopped and watched as Bartholomew Roberts stepped out of the dark of the jungle, followed closely by his first mate.

"I said you were free to go, Jack," Roberts further commented as he approached them, "I told you I didn't need your company... I was trying to warn you."

The Sirens bowed their heads to Roberts as he stood before them, his hands on his hips and a smirk on his face. He looked to the Sirens and nodded to the one who had spoken.

"You may go... it begins now," Roberts said quietly, then looked back to Jack. The Sirens turned and walked down the beach to the surf, wading out into the shallows and eventually walking below the surface. The crew's attention turned back to Jack as he addressed Roberts.

"Warn me about what?" Jack asked.

Roberts grinned, "What's about to happen. It's a bloody shame, Jack. You were a good man to sail with... I wanted to save you the trouble that is about to befall every man here."

"What trouble might that be?" Turner spoke up.

Roberts flicked his eyes to Turner and opened his mouth in pleasure, "Ah, if it isn't Captain Turner. Well, well... you've thrown your towel in with this ill-fated lot?"

"I stand by my friends," Turner replied vehemently, "You would know nothing of that, what friends do you have?"

Roberts gestured to Jack, "Jack Sparrow is my friend. Aren't you my friend, Jack?"

"I was your friend," Jack nodded, "When you were an honest pirate like the rest of us."

"An _honest pirate_?" Roberts asked mockingly, "You wouldn't know anything about that, and I know what I'm talking about unlike Captain Turner here."

"You've sold your soul to the Devil," Philip spoke, "An honest pirate sells his soul to no man or daemon in this universe. He is a self-interested man who always lands on the most profitable side."

"I am landing on the most profitable side!" Roberts declared with wide eyes, "I inherit immortality and rule over the seven seas in this endeavor! I am about to achieve what every pirate dreams of!"

Philip furrowed his brow in determination, "You have condemned yourself! You may live to rule the seas on this earth, but when the King returns and this world ends... you will face eternal damnation in Hell."

"Oh? I heard a different story," Roberts said cheerily, "I was told that the Devil took this world from its Creator, turned it against Him, and is never giving it back. Your _King_ may try... but He will fail! This world shall never end!"

"You have sacked Shipwreck Cove... you have burned Tortuga... but your reign of terror ends today," Philip declared, "the prophecies are fulfilled and one armada faces another... and mine is ready for battle."

Roberts scoffed, "What _armadas_ do you speak of? I see only one and it lies at anchor behind me, preparing to make sail."

Steele looked to Roberts and bowed his head, "Aye, Captain."

"You're not the only man who can free ships from bottles..." Barbossa's voice addressed them as he stepped out of the crews and came to the front, "I think ye need to reevaluate your definition of an honest pirate, Commodore Swift."

Philip looked to Barbossa as he joined the line of captains. Angelica stepped through the throng of crewmen as well and took her place beside Jack. In the moment Philip took to watch them, he spied the squadron moored offshore. It was no longer a squadron, but a fleet of ships, numbering more than a hundred. It wasn't nearly half a thousand as Roberts' fleet numbered, but at least they now stood a fighting chance on paper.

"Welcome back, Captain Barbossa." Philip nodded to him.

"An honest pirate always lands on the _right side_," Barbossa explained to Roberts, "and that side is the one that guarantees freedom... be it from tyrannical monarchs or from eternal punishment for committed sins."

Philip's lips turned up into a smile, "The Armada of God is assembled, Captain Roberts, and it is armed with the Fire of God."

"What fire is that?" Roberts asked sarcastically, "St. Piran's Blade? If that is what you speak of, I have it... right here."

Philip's eyes darted down to the sword that hung at Roberts' side as the dark captain's hand patted the hilt.

By now the sun had sunk lower in the sky, painting it with the brilliant colors of a golden sunset. The clouds were bathed in the same, tinged with darkness as if to symbolize light defeating darkness. The waters off Isla Sirena had become less placid, rising and falling as the sea grew excited. The setting sun cast specks of light across the green water's surface, making the sight nearly blinding at moments.

Syrena broke the water's surface, blinking and wiping a hand across her face as she kicked through the shallows. She made her way closer to the beach, carefully planting her hands under her on the coral-ridden bottom. Kicking too hard and scraping her tail on the sharp coral was something she wanted to avoid.

The scene unfolding on the beach made her heart race. Dozens of men stood in a group that spanned from the surf to the jungle, in front of which the captains of the fleet stood. Philip was easy to spot; he was wearing his black clerical attire and stood slightly in front of the rest, face to face with Roberts in his red frock.

She drifted through the surf to one of the boats and pulled herself up over the gunwale, trying to get close enough to hear what they were saying.

"You have St. Piran's _sword_," Philip replied, "Not St. Piran's _Blade_."

Roberts narrowed his eyes as Philip drew his spadroon, leveling the blade across his chest in a defensive stance. The blade began to burn white hot and Roberts bared his teeth.

"Back to your ships..." Philip ordered, "Tell Norrington he is in command."

"Yes... run back to your ships!" Roberts sneered, "And pray to your _God_, for your ships shan't be afloat much longer."

Syrena put a hand over her mouth as she watched Philip take a step towards Roberts. The other captains and the rest of the crew started heading back for their boats briskly, some watching over their shoulder as Philip remained to face the Devil's man.

Roberts chuckled as he brushed back the skirt of his frock, revealing his own sword hanging from the baldric under St. Piran's sword. He drew it and pointed it straight at Philip.

"So... it is you..." he growled at Philip, "you are the pure-hearted man. I should have guessed. You certainly dressed the part!"

"In the name of Jesus Christ, I draw my sword," Philip announced, "and in His name, I shall end you."

"Good luck," Roberts spat, "By my powers, we shall end you!"

Philip arched a brow, taking another step towards Roberts. Their blades nearly touched and Roberts smiled.

"We?" Philip asked.

"My name is Legion... for we are many..." Roberts answered, his voice shattering into a thousand. Then his appearance gave way to his daemonic soul. His mouth, filled with teeth that were now black with rot, gaped open and his skin paled. When Philip looked him in the eyes, they had gone, replaced by deep black sockets. Then Roberts' jaw stretched even further open, emitting a screeching roar that was humanly impossible.

Roberts ran forward, rearing his arm back to swing his blade at Philip, who jumped back and brought his blade up in defense. Their swords met, clanging and causing a shower of sparks to shoot in all directions. Philip grabbed Roberts' wrist and pulled it down, slinging the daemon's sword away. The two backed off, catching themselves before Roberts advanced again. He marched towards Philip, pointing his sword at his throat as Philip backed up and parried with his white hot spadroon. Each time Philip's blade met Roberts', sparks sprang out of the blinding light. They reflected the force of each blow. If their blades merely touched, a couple of sparks fell; if they swung at one another, the sparks flew like they did under the smith's hammer.

Syrena gasped as Philip and Roberts joined in combat, wanting terribly to run up out of the water with a sword of her own. Jack and the rest came splashing back into the surf and jumped into their boats. Some of the men nearly jumped when they realized a mermaid was hanging on to their boat, watching Good and Evil as they fought on the beach.

"Young Philip has St. Piran's Blade and the Lord's Blessing," Jack said quickly, taking her hand, "Go! The Armada is coming!"

Syrena took one last look at Philip as he ducked under Roberts' swinging blade, pushing it away with his own. She pushed herself away from Jack's boat and pulled herself back into the shallows, moving as quickly as possible without cutting her tail on the coral. The boats shoved off and the men lowered their oars, pulling hard for their ships as they looked out towards the point. Bells had begun to toll and the masts in the hidden anchorage had begun to shift about. The ships in the deeper anchorage had already begun to spread their sails and move out into the open ocean, making way for the rest to follow. The sight was ghastly; the _Black Pearl_ had black sails of patched and dirty canvas, a sight thought to be ominous... but the sails of every ship in the Armada of the Damned were a dark crimson. The sight could be likened to a spreading fire on the horizon, only adding to the brilliance of the sunset.

"You cannot defeat me..." Roberts hissed, his many voices terribly ragged, "the world knows no power greater than mine."

Philip continued to parry the daemon's blade, trotting backwards and gritting his teeth as the force of each blocked blow jarred his arm.

"You're right!" Philip snapped back, "I can't defeat you... but Christ in me can!"

Roberts glared at Philip, two red embers glowing in his black empty sockets. He slowed to a walk, his rotting teeth bared as he leveled his sword at Philip's waist.

"And your power is the greatest in the world," Philip added, "power is too small a word to describe God's might and reign over this universe!"

Roberts growled, sounding like a daemonic lion as he leapt forward and made to stab God's man. Philip spun out of the way, the skirts of his frock and shoulder cape fanning out as he took the offensive. In a swift flick of the wrist, he made to bring St. Piran's Blade across Roberts' back, but the scarlet clad pirate caught himself from falling. He threw his sword behind his shoulder, catching Philip's spadroon and pushing it away.

* * *

><p>Groves quickly climbed the <em>Providence's<em> side, waving for the men in the gig to follow. As soon as the oars were stowed and the boat hooked up, the men scrambled out and up to the outstretched hands of their shipmates.

"Where is the Commodore?" Norrington asked as he approached.

"Still ashore, dueling Roberts!" Groves replied, "We have to make sail, sir! The Armada!"

"I can see it," Norrington nodded, "In Commodore Swift's absence, I shall oversee his duties. Mr. Groves, you are acting Captain."

Groves touched his hat in a salute, "Aye, sir! Mr. Gillette, beat the ship to quarters and clear for action! Let fly the tops and gallants!"

"Aye, sir!"

The _Providence_ hoisted her boat back aboard as the men scaled aloft to set the sails, all to wary of the Hellish ships that were slowly standing offshore and amassing on the horizon.

"Mr. Groves, signal the squadron," Norrington commanded, "Each of the senior captains in the fleet shall command an element. _Providence_ will lead from the center, the _Rosa_ and _Bombay_ shall stand to windward, and the _Pearl_, _Revenge_, and _Dutchman_ to leeward. Each ship will lead an element of twenty. Tell them to keep the lighter vessels to the rear of their lines."

Groves nodded as a grin broke out onto his face, "We're to hit them in a line abreast?"

"No," Norrington shook his head, "We spread out and cut them into seven pieces. If we divide their forces, they cannot use their numbers against us!"

Groves nearly laughed as he turned to Gillette, "Mr. Gillette, general signal! _Rosa_ and _Bombay_ - windward. _Pearl_, _Revenge_, _Dutchman_ - leeward. Twenty each, unrated to rear!"

The leading ships slowly spread their canvas, running under tops, gallants, stays, and jibs - battle sail. They neatly lined up abreast from one another, relaying signals to the other ships Barbossa had freed. As the Armada of the Damned collected themselves, the Crusaders organized into seven lines astern the leading ships, forming something of a giant square on the pitching seas.

"I am reminded again why you were given a Commodore's post before ten senior captains!" Gillette exclaimed, "I commend you for your tactical insight, sir."

Norrington looked back at Gillette as he clasped his hand behind his back, standing tall on the _Providence's_ quarterdeck, "You may save your commendations, Mr. Gillette... this battle has yet to begin."

The decks fell silent as Norrington looked through the rigging at the Armada. They had simply clustered together, thinking that their numbers would simply overwhelm the smaller fleet. They might, but at least this tactic would make them fight to take them down.

"Mr. Groves..." Norrington spoke, his voice filled with adrenaline, "...run up the colors."

Groves set his jaw as he loosened his sword in its scabbard, his eyes filling with determination, "Aye, sir."

The rest of the crew watched silently as Groves nodded to Gillette, who strode aft to the locker under the taffrail. With the help of several sailors, they drew out and unfolded the black and white Cornish flag, fastening it to the halyard that ran up to the gaff. Then, in a moment that would surely have been recorded for history were the belligerents official navies, Groves hauled on the halyard and hoisted the flag. It caught the breeze and unfurled completely, cracking as it seemed to point towards the enemy like a condemning judge.

The Crusaders had the weather gauge.

"Three cheers in the name of the King!" someone shouted.

"Huzzah!" they yelled, waving their hats.

Norrington looked over at the _Black Pearl_, _Queen Anne's Revenge_, and _Flying Dutchman_. They too were hoisting their colors, as were the ships behind each of them.

"Huzzah!" the crew cheered a second time.

A roar arose from the _Rosa_ and _Bombay_ as their crews rallied around the _Providence's_ cries. They shook their swords and pistols in the air to further announce their violent intentions.

"Huzzah!" Gillette joined in on the last cry, drawing his sword and pointing it skyward.

At that moment, the setting sun dropped below the darkening clouds, sending a sudden burst of light across the decks of the Lord's fleet.

"Not only is the wind ours, the sun's in the enemy's eyes too!" Groves mused, "I think this sign of Divine Providence shall make this day ours."

Norrington looked down at the deck, "I have known this to be our destiny from the start, Groves. The very deck we stand on is God's _Providence_."

The former naval officers fell silent, listening to the clamor about the ships in the fleet as it prepared for battle. Metal scraped as guns were loaded and the shot rammed home to the breech, then the decks groaned as the guns were slowly run out. Barrels of cutlasses, pikes, musketoons, and pistols were distributed throughout the ships. Extra canisters of shot and powder were passed along the gundeck and buckets of water were set about in the event of a fire or gun malfunction.

"Mr. Groves..." Norrington said stoically, "signal the fleet: _Close with enemy_."

Groves nodded and touched his hat, "Aye, sir."

The _Providence_ trimmed her yards, her sails filling with wind, and began to plow forward across the water. Moments later, the other ships abreast and astern answered, moving forward towards the approaching enemy.

"It has begun," Groves murmured to Gillette as he passed, "God be with us."

Syrena slowly treaded water with Nia and Morvoren, watching the fleet as it set sail towards the oncoming armada of damned ships with red sails. They had run out their guns, like a pack of wolves baring their fangs.

"Right, Sisters, it is time," Morvoren declared, "Nia, you will lead your force to the left. Syrena, you take the right."

Nia and Syrena nodded, submerging to look to the rest of the nearly two hundred mermaids. They were all armed with spears, pikes, swords, and dirks. Morvoren's strategy was simple: follow under the fleet and attack the bellies of the armada, using their weapons to kill any foe they met in the water. It was surely to happen; sea battles of this size were known for chaos as ships sank and crews tried to climb aboard enemy ships or use drifting boats to swarm opponents. Fighting had even broken out between two clusters of boats from opposing ships that had been sunk. The men were armed and dangerous, so Morvoren was taking no chances.

Syrena looked back to her mermaids. Alexandra floated in the water behind her, second in command, and more of the Tortuga Mermaids were behind her. Also joining her were dark skinned mermaids from the shores of Tripoli. They were ready, their weapons drawn. The sun was setting, allowing its light to stab through the clear green waters like broad knives, which made it easier to see just how many were under the surface. Hopefully, the Armada of the Damned didn't know the mermaids lurked under Philip's fleet, making them a secret weapon that would turn the tide of battle.

Alexandra nodded and Syrena looked down at her hip. She wore a small belt around her waist, through which she had sheathed a hunting sword. It had a straight blade that was a little over half as long as her arm with a simple hilt and a curved bone handle.

Slowly, Syrena drew the weapon, then pointed it through the water. The mermaids began to swim forward, passing through shafts of light as the surface above them rose and fell, glittering with the sun. The water ahead of them looked like it was filled with hundred of pillars of light, caused by the shadows of the fleet sailing above. Syrena looked up, watching the bellies of the ships stir the water and leave wakes behind them on the surface. It was truly a sight to see. Never had she seen so many ships together. She swam forward, kicking hard with her tail as she tried to pass under the fleet and reach the front rank of their formation. In the distance, she could see the unmistakable hull of the _Providence_, distinguished by her copper bottom and her underwater entry port. She wanted to be near the ship, even if Philip wasn't aboard. There was a sense of connection to the ship, as if she were a part of it just like the officers and crew. It was her new home.

Her thoughts, though they changed, always kept Philip in them. She prayed for his safety like she had never prayed before. The last she had seen of him, he was dueling Roberts himself on the beach of Isla Sirena, blocking, dodging, and parrying the daemonic captain's attacks. Though Philip had only recently become a fighting man, she knew he could hold his own. Throughout the voyage, Norrington had done his best to teach Philip the ways of swordplay, sailing, and naval warfare. He had certainly learned from the best. When the former Admiral had joined them at table in the great cabin, he had related tales of many grand missions.

Syrena's thoughts were interrupted as she heard the muffled sounds of thunder from above. She couldn't see the bellies of the Armada yet, but she realized the opposing sides were now within range... unleashing the first shots of the battle with their bow chasers. The water between the ships of the fleet became angry as solid shot peppered it, plunging down in pillars of bubbles as spray shot up above the surface. Foamy ripples fanned out from each of the impacts; the sight looked like the Heavens had scattered a handful of rocks across the ocean's surface.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> And the battle begins! I don't really know what it would be called if it were to officially go down in the POTC-verse records. The Battle of Heaven and Hell? The Battle of Isla Sirena? What are your thoughts?

I want you all to go look something up. Go to Google Images and look up wallpapers for _On Stranger Tides_. You will notice that in a lot of the wallpapers, the background is this epic looking sunset filled with ships. There's one particular wallpaper that I'm using that doesn't have any characters on it, just the _Providence_ and _Queen Anne's Revenge_ sailing into combat. Well, if all of you recall... there wasn't any sea battle in the movie. So... I like to think that the background is actually for _this story_. I hope looking at those wallpapers will help you see what I'm envisioning when I write chapter twelve. Imagine... seeing that in the background as the camera follows Roberts and Philip down the beach, swords swinging and sparks flying. Think of the amazing score Hans Zimmer could turn out... the score I've heard in my head is grand in scale like the AWE soundtrack, albeit with added choral ques and thundering bass to give it a more religious and war-like tone... kinda like Zimmer's score for _King Arthur_.

Keep your heads down ladies and gentlemen... the shot and splinters are about to fly.


	12. Chapter 12

**Author's Note:** Finally! Here it is! The long awaited Battle of Isla Sirena, the climax, the most epic part. I was able to write this somewhat easily, I just couldn't bang it out due to the festivities of our (America's) Independence Day and my moving into a new room. Sorry it took so long to get this chapter up, but I think the building anticipation has done you well... it'll make this all the better! On a historical note, the day Bartholomew Roberts was killed has actually gone down in legend as "The Blackest Day" - the day piracy truly died. As such, I think it is a fitting title for this chapter.

* * *

><p>THE BLACKEST DAY<p>

The green seas of the Caribbean rose and fell with excitement, catching the setting sun on its glassy surface with an intensity that was nearly blinding. The sky was full of golden light that gently turned into a dark blue, succumbing to the coming night. However, the sky could hardly be seen through the thick clouds that hung over the ocean like a blanket embroidered with gold thread.

It was from the coming night which the Hellish ships with red sails came, their bows sparkling with the flashes of bow chasers. The solid shot hurled through the air, moving so fast as to carry a trail of gun smoke behind them. Moaning, the shot zipped through the formation of oncoming ships, punching into the water and throwing up geysers of spray. Their aim was poor, for the oncoming fleet sailed with their sterns to the setting sun, a blinding orb of brilliant white.

James Norrington stood on the quarterdeck of the _Providence_, one hand behind at his back and the other resting on the pommel of his sword. He watched the men as they hunched behind their guns, linstocks, swabs, and ramrods ready for the coming action. They had stripped to their waists, their black neckerchiefs tied around their brows to keep the sweat out of their eyes. The waited in silence, their eyes on the officers as the fleets drew closer. The Armada of the Damned filled the horizon off their bows, but already they were firing with a blind urgency. Norrington's jaw set; he had waited long for this day, the opportunity to truly demonstrate what a naval officer was capable of. This was his element, his forte, the pinnacle of his career and all that he had achieved. As he realized he could no longer see the horizon past the enemy ships, another thought came to him. Never had he seen so many ships amassed for a single engagement. He never would have experienced it had he lived on into knighthood in the Royal Navy; the Empire's ships were spread thin across the world. The irony nearly made him smile; the climax of his fighting career would never be recorded in the history of the world. His actions would never be known, not his bravery or cunning, not his zeal or loyalty. This was the essence of integrity, for he was likely to help save the world today... and only those who survived the day would know.

"Steady, men!" Norrington called, "Stand fast until we're amongst them!"

The gun crews' eyes were wide now, their chests heaving as they breathed out their adrenaline, shook their hands, and rolled their shoulders. Those armed with small arms on the spar deck crouched behind the bulwarks, doing their best to stay out of the sights of the enemy's sharpshooters. Musket balls whizzed down on the deck as they came with in range; now the two armadas were so close they could see each other's faces. They were much like the men of the _Providence_, clad in garments without color. However, their soulless state was evident by the pallor of their faces and the darkness of their eyes. These men were from Hell itself, and then the thought of whether or not they could die crossed Norrington's mind.

"Lads, in the name of our King, Jesus Christ, the Son of God, we draw our swords and run out our guns!" Norrington shouted, drawing his dress sword. He slipped his hand through the sword knot and cinched it tightly, gripping the handle with a fervor that turned his knuckles white, "I cannot tell you that we will all sail away from this alive, if any of us... but I promise you that regardless of what happens, we _will_ conclude this day in victory!"

The men roared with a bolstered energy that even dinned out the thunder of the enemy's guns, who were now so close that the moment of engagement was upon them. Gracefully, the _Providence_ slipped into a gap between two of the enemy ships, their yardarms nearly touching. The daemonic crews on the enemy ships screeched and howled with ghoulish sounds, shaking their swords in the air. Norrington raised his sword above his head, pointing it towards the Heavens. At that moment, the sun caught on the blade, glinting brightly.

"Larboard and starboard batteries," Norrington bellowed, "as you bear, _FIRE_!"

Norrington cut down through the air with his sword, feeling the decks bucking beneath his feet as the _Providence_ opened fire. The gun captains touched their linstocks to their vents, then covered their ears as the geysers of sparks burned down the the breeches and ignited the charges. The guns violently recoiled, jerking on their tackles as an ear-splitting thunder announced the commencement of battle. Showers of sparks and flaming wadding discharged from the muzzles of the guns, followed by plumes of blue-gray smoke that nearly hid the enemy ships from view. Their targets were close, for splinters rocketed through the air and rained down on the frigate's decks.

Norrington blinked, his ears ringing from the deafening broadside, peering through the smoke to ensure that the men were responding. The men crouched behind the bulwarks stood, shouldering their musketoons and aiming skyward at the enemy's masts. Slowly, the acrid smoke dissipated, allowing the armed men to open fire with their volleys. Below on the gun deck, the men were throwing themselves at their guns, throwing their swabs down the barrels to put out lingering embers as the powder monkeys rushed forward with their shot and powder. The gun captains stopped their vents and picked them as the charge and shot were loaded and rammed home, then the lot of them strained themselves as they hauled on their tackles. The decks shuddered again as the guns were hurriedly run back out.

Just as the ringing in his ears faded, the ship to larboard returned fire with her own broadside. Shot moaned across the decks, shattering sections of the rail and parting lines. Splinters exploded across the deck and took down some of the crew as they ran about, which caused Norrington to grit his teeth. A shot flew past, nearly hitting a deckhand as he ran by; his back broke from the force of the shot passing so close, killing him.

Jack lowered his lens and shut it slowly as he watched the _Providence_ sail into the Armada's midst, her guns flashing and the rolling thunder coming soon afterwords. Gibbs stood behind him, his mouth hanging open at the sight.

"Captain, the guns are ready!" Gibbs reported.

"Hold their fire," Jack replied, his teeth bared as his demeanor changed, "we fire as one, savvy?"

Gibbs nodded, seeing the adrenaline in Jack's face. It was an expression that he didn't see often. No longer did Jack lazily look about in a half drunken stupor. His eyes were set on the Armada, a hand gripping a shroud firmly. The wind blew again and the loose strands of hair blew about with the tails of his red bandanna. It nearly made him look heroic. It was a sight that hit home for Gibbs. When Jack took off his drunken facade, the situation was either extremely desperate or intense. Not even the Battle of the Maelstrom had put Jack into this bold mood.

"Stand by your guns!" Gibbs shouted as he strode along the _Black Pearl's_ deck, "Wait for the command to fire!"

The black ship with black sails cruised towards the enemy, which had now begun to stir and loosen their formation. The _Providence_ and her column had already been enveloped in a blanket of gun smoke, the pounding guns firing so rapidly that it merely sounded like a dull roar in the distance. By now, the _Queen Anne's Revenge_ had entered the fray, blasting away at the enemy ships with a ferocity not unlike a lion. She unleashed her Greek fire, hurling the flames into the thick of the armada and setting several ablaze outright. Other ships veered off to avoid catching the blaze, but for some it was too late - their red sails were already burning, making them truly Hellish in appearance.

Jack drew out his sword, watching as the _Pearl's_ bows passed those of the ships he was running head to head with. As they passed, he pointed his sword at the enemy running about the decks, a gesture of condemnation. They shouted back and shook their weapons at him, some even spitting over the side in anger.

"Hold fire!" Jack called to Gibbs, who now stood behind the guns, his own cutlass in hand.

"Steady lads!" Gibbs shouted.

Slowly, the ships lined up squarely abreast one another; all their guns were brought to bear and the moment had come.

"Fire!" Jack shouted, "Give them all you've got!"

Gibbs sliced through the air with his sword, "_FIRE_!"

The _Black Pearl's_ guns belched fire and smoke, thundering all at once in another deafening moment. Though the smoke almost instantly hid the enemy ships from view, Jack could hear the damage being wrought. The sounds of splinters riddling the decks combined with the crash of guns being shot clean off their carriages, smashing many of the crew into instant oblivion. Then Jack looked up as he heard the crack and squeal of wood. The mainmast of one of the enemy ships was coming down.

The crew of the _Black Pearl_ cheered as the mast went down, toppling over onto the ship next to it and catching in its rigging. Jack saw the opportunity and shouted to Gibbs.

"Get a move on and reload those guns! Hit 'em while they're panicking!"

All across the line, the two fleets clashed. The _Flying Dutchman_ sailed into the chaos with a deadly grace that made enemy ships start veering away to avoid engaging her. She chased them down with her triple guns, pouring a a hail of iron into them that they simply couldn't match. The _Bombay_, though not entirely experienced in naval warfare, was fairing well enough. She ran amongst the enemy, peppering them with her newly installed guns, supported by the rest of the ships in her column.

"We're dividing them!" Angelica shouted, covering her face with her arm as an enemy round hit the _Rosa_ and sent splinters everywhere, "Keep the fire up, boys!"

The _Rosa_ slid past another two enemy ships, her guns thundering in response to the enemy's fire. Her rounds ripped through their hulls and rigging, causing a great amount of destruction. All about her, Angelica saw ships, smoke, ripples of gun flashes, and a forest of masts, sails, and rigging above. The sky and sea could hardly be seen; the horizon had simply vanished. The water between the ships frothed as splinters dashed across it, men were hit by flying debris and thrown overboard, and masts toppled over.

"Ready the chasers!" Barbossa cackled, "Lest they find opportunity to return fire!"

The _Queen Anne's Revenge_ continued to weave through the chaos, leaving burning ships where she went. The crew threw themselves onto their guns, their backs glistening with sweat as they feverishly worked to keep up their ship's rate of fire. Like those facing the _Dutchman_, the enemy ships had begun to realize that standing up against the _Revenge_ was futile, trying to bear off and avoid her. The sight made Barbossa laugh fiendishly.

"Bow chasers loaded and ready, Captain!" one of the men shouted as he ran past.

"Fire as you bear!" Barbossa bellowed.

The _Revenge_ brought her bows slightly to larboard, aiming her bow guns at the nearest enemy ship. As soon as the enemy ship was in their sights, the bow chasers' captains touched their linstocks to the vents, unleashing the fury that had made the ship so infamous. The Greek fire screamed out in a jet, pouring over the enemy ship's hull and crawling through the open gun ports. The tarred rigging immediately ignited and the red sails erupted into flames soon afterward. Barbossa folded his arms across his chest as an enemy round flew past some five feet away; he did not flinch as he watched the burning ship. His eyes widened as the enemy ship's hull suddenly expanded and then exploded, hurling entire sections of planking and masts in all directions. The ship's guns were blasted through the gun ports as the hull ripped apart, smashing through nearby ships. For a moment, the raging battle seemed to cease as crews throughout both fleets stopped to stare at the inferno. When the smoke cleared, nothing was left save hunks of wreckage that bobbed in the water, surrounded by the bodies of the daemonic crew that had been aboard. Neighboring ships had stopped firing their guns to put out fires and remove parts of the ship's masts from their decks.

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><p>Philip and Roberts swung at each other at the same moment, their blades clashing together in another shower of sparks. Then they both noticed the silence at sea, looking to the two fleets that had now become one entangled mass. Pillars of smoke rose up from ferocious fires, notably from the site of the muffled explosion that had silenced the engagement. Now the only sounds were those of the sea, the breakers washing up onto the beach on which Philip and Roberts fought.<p>

Philip was the first to speak, looking back to his Hellish opponent, "I see that your Armada has no Admiral to command it... rendering it vulnerable to the genius of a military man."

Roberts snapped his eyes back to Philip, "No military man can best the Devil."

Philip pushed Roberts' sword away and they swung again. Philip turned and Roberts' blade sliced through the air, just missing Philip's back.

"No military man can best the Devil, but God can!" Philip replied, kicking Roberts in the gut, "That's why my military man is out there and you're here facing me!"

Roberts fell back onto the sand, quickly rolling out of the way as Philip made to stab him. The white hot blade sank into the sand, turning the grains around it to glass. As Philip pulled it back out, the glass shattered, tinkling under Philip's boots as he walked towards his daemonic opponent.

"Surely you don't forget my Sirens?" Roberts asked with a sneer, "You'd best fall on your knees and pray before they do too much damage!"

Philip glanced out to sea, noting that the battle had resumed and the distant rolling thunder once again reached his ears.

Below the clashing fleets, the Allied Mermaids attacked. They swarmed the bellies of enemy ships, bashing them with their tails, cutting at their planking with their pikes, and prying the nails out with their swords. Just as it had been guessed, boats full of daemonic crews now rowed about, carrying on the battle after the loss of their ships. These were easy prey for the mermaids, who leapt out of the water and dragged them down to their deaths.

Syrena did not leap from the water, put she did hack at the oars of passing boats, rendering them helpless in the water. Once the boats had become paralyzed, the mermaids under her command would snatch the wrists of the crew who tried to paddle with their hands, pulling them out of their boats. All around her, shards of shattered wood floated on the surface. Sections of masts tangled in canvas and rigging bobbed about. An even more haunting sight could be seen below as the sun continued to set and shine its rays into the depths. These rays of light now seemed like spotlights on what was left of ships as they sank further into the deep, bubbles escaping their hulls and lighter pieces of wreckage drifting up from open hatches and gaping holes.

Syrena winced as pain shot up the right side of her tail, right where a human's thigh would be. She looked down into the eyes of a Siren. The Siren no longer looked like a beautiful woman as it had on the beach, but rather the daemonic creature of the sea it truly was. Its upper half was still somewhat human, its skin pale white with sunken hollow eyes that were large and colorless. In its mouth were long thin teeth much like those of an Angler fish, its arms were bony with long clawed fingers; one of its hands had blood on its fingertips from clawing her. Its hair was long, white, and spidery. From the waist down, where there had once been long sensuous legs, there were now tentacles like those of a squid, perhaps twenty feet long.

Before Syrena could move to defend herself, the Siren bared its teeth and grabbed her about the waist with its tentacles, pulling her down and away from the other mermaids. Syrena grabbed at the tentacles tightly clinging to her, trying to pull them off. When that had failed, she tried to work her fingers under them, but they were too strong. Another Siren gripping another mermaid shot down past them, dragging the unfortunate mermaid into the dark depths. Alexandra swam down to where Syrena struggled, putting her blade flat against Syrena's belly and holding her arm reassuringly. Syrena reached up and grabbed Alexandra's wrist, nodding as her sister shoved the sword down, cutting under the Siren's tentacles. The Siren tried to squeeze harder, but Alexandra's blade had shaved the suckers of the Siren's tentacles clean off, allowing Syrena to squirm and push herself free. They both turned on the wounded Siren, thrusting their swords through the water and plunging them into the Siren's belly. It writhed and tried to pull itself free, but Alexandra swam into the Siren, pulling it to her chest and deeper onto her impaled blade. Finally, the daemonic creature died, its tentacles hanging limply in the depths.

Alexandra rolled out from underneath it and they pulled their swords out of the creature's body. It started to sink down into the darkness as Syrena looked down at her waist. The suckers of the Siren still wrapped about her waist, the water ever so slightly stained with a couple of clouds of blood. Syrena placed the cutting edge of her sword against her skin, sliding it under a sucker and prying it off. As she did, she winced again. The suckers were ringed with tiny barbed teeth that left a small bruised ring on her skin. There was also a minor cut from Alexandra sliding the blade underneath.

Syrena looked back up to Alexandra, who nodded to her and looked back up towards the surface. Other Sirens were attacking the mermaids, pulling them down to the crushing depths and mauling them with their needle-like teeth. The two mermaids immediately kicked as hard as they could, swimming back up to the fight and readying their weapons. Syrena let go of her timidness, her unwillingness to resort to flat-out violence. Her sisters were in danger, as were the men of the Crusaders if the mermaids were defeated. She would not let a Siren wrap it's barbed tentacles around Philip and drag him to his death.

A Siren looked over its shoulder, having no time to react as Syrena sliced through the water with her sword, cutting three tentacles clean off. The Siren opened its mouth in agony, emitting a muffled scream that gurgled through the water. Enraged, it flung itself at Syrena, its three mutilated tentacles leaving trails of blood in the water. It reached out with its clawed hands, only to be warded off as Syrena thrust with her sword again, grazing the Siren's arm. Then Syrena moved in for the kill, pulling her blade across the Siren's waist and cutting it open.

The underwater battle intensified, pitting mermaid against Siren as they wrestled, squirmed, clawed, hit, and choked. Slowly, the armed mermaids gained the upper hand, using their weapons to kill the Sirens without mercy. However, the battle was far from over, for just as one wave of Sirens was obliterated, another came. What's more, the thunder above the surface continued as splinters and wreckage filled the water. The surface looked like it was covered with fireflies, flashing all about as far as could be seen.

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><p>The <em>Providence<em> boldly pressed on through the midst of the Armada, her guns thundering in broadsides that riddled the enemy with iron. The action was close range now, so close that as the _Providence_ passed enemy ships, their yardarms nearly touched.

Norrington stood tall on the quarterdeck, his hands behind his back as enemy rounds slammed into the _Providence_. Splinters flew and musket balls moaned about, but the former naval officer did not flinch.

"Sir!" Groves shouted from the waist, "It's the _Royal Fortune_!"

Norrington peered out through the blue-gray smoke and spotted the bluff bow of Roberts' ship, then nodded back to Groves.

"Ready the grappling hooks and stage the boarding parties!" Norrington shouted.

Groves turned, waving his sword, "Right lads, grappling hooks ready and wait for the word!"

The crew scrambled as they checked their pistols, grabbed their pikes, and drew their cutlasses. Some of the men ran to the grappling hooks where they were coiled on the deck, loosening the line and watching the quarterdeck for the command. The _Royal Fortune_ slowly brought herself up alongside the _Providence_, her crew screaming at the flagship of the Crusaders.

"Larboard battery," Gillette shouted from below, "_FIRE_!"

In a final moment, both ships hammered each other with deafening broadsides. Shot ran through-and-through, tearing across the decks and taking everything in its path with it. Men were cut down all about and the splinters were so thick it looked like a black rain.

"Boarders away!" Norrington shouted as he drew his sword.

"In the name of the King!" Groves yelled.

The men of the _Providence_ hurled their grappling hooks across, pulling hard on the line to bring the ships together. Both sides opened fire with their musketoons and pistols, swivels cracked and grape shot sprayed the deck. Then the ships shuddered as the ground together, their yards tangling in each other's rigging.

"Now!" Groves bellowed.

The men leapt up onto the rails, jumping over to the _Royal Fortune_ and swinging their cutlasses wildly. They were met with pikes, some of which managed to impale the crew and push their bodies down over the side. They fell into oblivion, crushed between the grinding hulls of the grappling ships. Groves leapt down onto the foredeck of Roberts' flagship, thrusting his blade into a daemonic pirate and kicking him to the deck. Others charged him but the men of the _Providence_ stood alongside him, their cutlasses ready. The boarding action joined with a rippling clang of swords, the crack of blades swinging and hitting the rails, and the gruesome sound of flesh being hacked apart. Men shouted and screamed, both in aggression and anguish.

Norrington crossed over, jumping down to the _Royal Fortune's_ waist and into a ring of daemons. He pulled out his pistol and shot the first one to see him, then tossed his pistol up into the air. He caught the muzzle and swung down, using the butt of the pistol like a club as another pirate rushed him. The pistol butt hit the pirate on the top of the head, dropping him to the deck. Then Norrington flung his sword up, parrying the blade of another pirate and cutting across the chest of another. In this aggressive fashion, he fought his way up the stairs to the enemy ship's quarterdeck. He stopped as he came face to face with the ship's acting captain.

"That's some fine swordplay," Judas Steele remarked as he slowly walked across the deck, "but not the finest I've seen."

Norrington raised his hand, pointing his blade at Steele's throat, "I may not be the best, but I can get the job done."

Steele smirked, "We'll see about that."

The two lunged at each other, thrusting their blades and grabbing each other by the wrists. Steele kicked Norrington away and advanced again; this time Norrington parried his opponent's blade and spun behind him, flicking his sword across Steele's back. Steele winced and chuckled.

"You've drawn first blood, old boy, but I'm drawing the last... and it'll be all of it." he snapped.

Steele charged again and Norrington neatly deflected the swing, letting his opponent rush by and nearly trip across the deck. Enraged, he turned and charged again, meeting Norrington's blade and locking it with his. They pulled and pushed, trying to gain the upper hand, but they seemed evenly matched.

"I beseech you, Captain!" Norrington said earnestly as they struggled, "Strike your colors... this duel will not decide the outcome of this day!"

Steele broke away and pointed his sword at Norrington, "Never. You strike yours or there'll be Hell to pay."

Norrington readied his stance, "Surrender is your only option and one I do not have!"

"So be it..." Steele murmured.

The daemonic captain charged again and Norrington jumped out of the way, flicking his blade and catching Steele's arm. Steele yelped and pulled away, clutching his bicep with a fierce expression on his face.

"I ask you again," Norrington declared, "Surrender and kneel before the Lord God your King."

"He is no _king_, especially not mine!" Steele growled.

Norrington leveled his blade again, "Then you choose damnation."

Norrington started striding for Steele, who shouted and charged one last time. Again, Norrington parried and caught the back of Steele's neck, throwing him face-first onto the deck. Steele rolled over, just as Norrington's blade pierced his chest. His mouth flew open, his eyes wide as the pain shot throughout his body.

"I'm sorry it had to end this way," Norrington said to him as the blade plunged deeper, "I've always been a man to accept a surrender and treat my opponent with decency."

Steele tried to spit in Norrington's face, but blood sputtered out of his mouth and onto his chin. Norrington yanked his sword free and turned to look at the decks about him. The fighting still continued, but a group of daemonic sailors had stopped at the stairs, watching the quarterdeck duel unfold.

"Your captain has chosen death over surrender!" Norrington shouted, "Will you follow him, or will you strike?"

The daemons looked at Norrington in awe; behind him, the flag of the _Providence_ cracked in the wind, the setting sun now starting to sink under the horizon. Some of the smoke parted and a ray of light lit up the flag, illuminating Norrington in a glow that made the Hellish crew start dropping their weapons. Groves came up from the waist, his sword to the back of one of the surrendered crew.

"Haul down that flag!" Groves commanded firmly.

The daemon looked over his shoulder at Groves, then stumbled off to the taffrail to pull the _Royal Fortune's_ ensign down. Slowly, the black flag came down, causing some of the ships nearby to lessen their fire. Others were watching.

"By Jove!" Nathaniel exclaimed, "She's struck her colors!"

The crew of the _Bombay_ held up their weapons and cheered, sending other Crusading vessels into wild cries of victory.

* * *

><p>Roberts parried Philip's blade and kicked him in the side, forcing them away from each other.<p>

"Your pitiful fleet may have taken the seas, but now the sea itself shall take them as I take your life!" Roberts sneered.

Philip parried another blow and backed off to collect himself. He eyed the daemonic man standing opposite him, whose eyes burned brighter now. His face seemed to grow more horrid with each passing minute; whether that meant he was growing angrier or approaching defeat, he did not know... but he wasn't going to wait to find out.

"The only thing that is pitiful on this earth is you." Philip answered.

The two approached one another again, swinging their blades and clanging them into a lethal embrace of steel. The blinding light of St. Piran's Blade intensified with the clash, making Roberts squint. Philip looked to the setting sun, the clashing fleets silhouetted against it, then jumped back and moved to put the sun behind him. Roberts turned and tried to look at Philip, shielding his eyes against the sun as it suddenly brightened and poured through the smoke. Philip knew that Roberts could barely make him out and his blade had nearly become invisible, blending with the light of the sun.

"This day is God's, for He made it and He shall end it!" Philip declared, "Lay down your arms and bow before Him."

Roberts bared his rotten teeth, "Damn you and your King!"

"Then you shall meet Him for judgment, and your sentence shall be eternal damnation." Philip replied.

Philip advanced out of the sun, thrusting his blade and catching Roberts in the arm. The daemonic captain grimaced and withdrew, holding his arm. The wound was one that only St. Piran's blade could inflict; the skin around the gash was scorched, burned, charred. It did not bleed, for the heat of the blade had cauterized it instantly. It did render his arm useless and put him into a great deal of pain, which Philip immediately took advantage of. He swung again, slicing across Roberts' chest and splitting open both his attire and his chest. Roberts howled and hunched over, only to fall to his knees as Philip quickly spun behind him and sliced across the backs of them. He knelt in the sand, his sword next to him, his hands across the wound on his chest as Philip walked back around to face him.

"If you will not kneel before the King of Kings, then you will be made to do so." Philip said firmly.

Roberts spat at Philip's boots, "And yet, I will not honor Him."

Philip extended his blade and put it under Roberts' chin, making him wince as he lifted his chin up. His already decayed skin quickly burned away where the tip of Philip's blade came in contact, leaving bare scorched bone.

"Then I will send you to your judgment." Philip declared grimly.

Roberts grinned, "You can't kill me... you won't."

Philip sank to his haunches, bringing himself eye-to-eye with Roberts, "I could; I am a soldier of God... but you're right. I won't. My sword, however, will."

Roberts' face suddenly turned to horror as Philip swiftly stood and drove the tip of his blade into Roberts' neck, running it through-and-through. The glow of Roberts' eyes vanished and he suddenly decayed further, his remains sliding off Philip's spadroon. He crumbled to the ground and the setting sun brightened even more.

Philip looked down at St. Piran's Blade, then murmured a prayer of thanks as he sheathed it. He turned to face the sunset and the battle that laid before it. Slowly, the gunfire diminished into a silence and he watched as the ships struck their sails, dropping anchor as black flags were lowered and enemy crews surrendered. The Armada was heavily damaged; it appeared that many ships had sunk and others drifted at a list. Pillars of smoke lazily rose from their midst and soon the sounds of bells and calls reached his ears as the victorious Crusaders organized themselves.

"Philip!" a woman's voice shouted.

Philip looked down the beach and spied a mermaid on her belly in the surf, waving for him to come. He started trotting over, then broke into a run as he saw the body on the beach next to the mermaid.

"What happened?" he asked frantically as he knelt in the surf.

"A Siren got her," Alexandra replied, "they started using the weapons of our defeated sisters!"

Philip put his hand under Syrena's head and shoulders, lifting her up into his lap as her eyes slowly cracked open.

"Philip..." she breathed, her lips barely moving.

"Syrena, you will survive!" Philip replied quickly, "I know this... I know because I know your strength... I know what fuels it!"

He looked down at her side, at the gash that ran diagonally under her ribs. Blood stained his hand and the water as the breakers washed ashore. Her face was pale and it was clear that this wound had been inflicted earlier in the battle.

"They killed Morvoren, Queen of the Mermaids..." Alexandra replied woefully, "but the moment she was taken, Syrena killed them in return."

Philip put his other hand on Syrena's cheek, "Look at me Syrena. God saved you for me once... I know He will do it again!"

Syrena smiled at Philip weakly and reached up, touching his face. Her fingers lightly ran across his cheek to his lips.

"I love you, Philip..." she gasped.

Philip blinked, "Syrena, I love you too!"

She let her hand fall and swallowed, her smile fading as pain shot through her.

"Syrena, don't go! God! Protect her! GOD!" Philip cried, "Syrena... Syrena..."

Her eyes fluttered and met his.

"Syrena," Philip leaned over her, crying, "will you marry me?"

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> Wow! What's going to happen? You gotta love a cliffhanger! Anyway, your reviews are, as always, much appreciated and I thank you for what you've taken the time to say! To those of you who, like me, are frustrated that four movies have been made and there has yet to be a huge sea battle... I hope this has satisfied you. I was really let down by the untapped potential of the buildup to the Maelstrom, so this is something of a response to my desire to see a major naval engagement appear in the series. I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I did writing it!


	13. Chapter 13

ARMADA OF THE DAMNED

Philip held her close, praying harder than he ever had before and hoping that the strength in his arms would leave him and enter her. He had nearly lost her once and he didn't want to lose her again.

"God, protect her!" he breathed, looking to Alexandra, "Fetch a boat from the _Providence_, go!"

Alexandra pushed herself back into the water and disappeared beneath the waves. He watched as the water churned and foam rose to the surface, streaking out towards the entangled fleets. The sun was finally dipping further below the horizon, giving way to night as the stars began to show themselves in the now cloudless sky. Still, the horizon glowed... from the many ships that burned at the hands of Barbossa's _Queen Anne's Revenge_.

_I am the giver and taker of life. If you have been chosen to wield My power to take the lives of daemons, then you also wield My power to save the lives of angels._

Philip looked up at the brightening stars, the corners of his eyes streaked with the tears he had shed. Then he remembered what he had seen during the duel against Roberts, how he had cut him, how St. Piran's Blade had sliced open his skin, cauterizing the wound instantly. Philip's eyes turned back down to Syrena's face, which was contorted into a pained unconsciousness.

"Syrena, can you hear me?" he asked.

She remained still and his eyes flicked to her chest; it still rose and fell. Then, after murmuring a prayer in silence, he drew his spadroon from its scabbard. As always, the blade brightened until it glowed with a blinding white light.

_Do it. You can save her just as she saved you._

Slowly, Philip reached down and pinched at Syrena's side, holding the gash together as if a needle and thread were ready to sew it shut. Blood oozed out and over his fingers, but he remained firm as he brought St. Piran's Blade down to her side. Carefully, he inserted the tip of the blade into her wound, quickly pulling it along the gash and cauterizing the interior. Once this was finished, he pulled the blade out and put the flat side against the wound, sealing it shut. When it healed, it would look as if she had been branded under the ribs, but at least she would be alive. He felt her tense and shudder as the blade touched her, then she reached up and grabbed his arm, gasping in pain.

"Syrena, it's ok!" Philip said quickly, "I am stopping the bleeding and closing the wound."

She pulled on his arm, hauling her face up to his. Their eyes met and she leaned in, her lips nearly touching his ear.

"Yes..."

Philip drew back to look at her, "You knew?"

Syrena shook her head with all the strength she could muster and whispered again, "Yes."

"No? Yes?"

"Yes!"

"Yes what?" Philip asked in confusion.

Syrena's lips barely cracked into a smile, but he could see her amusement at his confusion in her eyes. Were she not in so much pain, he knew she would be laughing.

"Yes, I will marry you!" she exclaimed softly.

Philip froze, as did time and space. They stared at each other, unable to contain their joy despite her pain and his worry. Philip began to laugh in silent bursts.

"Yes! That yes!" he laughed, "You said yes!"

"Of course," Syrena replied as she laid back, "that was always my answer... it was only a matter of you asking me so I could say it."

Philip sheathed his spadroon and wrapped his arms under her, pulling her up into an embrace as their lips met in their first kiss as a couple engaged. Then they laid there on the sand, feeling the water rush up over his toes and her fins, watching the boat from the _Providence_ as it rowed towards them with all the speed it could muster.

"It hurts terribly, the wound." Syrena mused.

"But you're alive," Philip answered, "the pain says so. Pain is sometimes good."

She nodded and nestled close to him, her mouth switching from grimace to grin as she felt both joy and anguish. Alexandra burst from below the surface and pulled herself through the surf towards them.

"How is she?!" Alexandra asked.

"Alive and safe!" Philip called back, "I used St. Piran's Blade to cauterize the wound."

Alexandra stopped, a smile breaking onto her face, "Thank God!"

Philip nodded, then arched a brow, "You said Morvoren is dead?"

Alexandra's smile vanished and she nodded grimly, "Yes... she is gone."

"Who is Queen now?" he asked.

Alexandra remained silent for a moment, solemnly looking at them. Before she could say it, Philip and Syrena realized it.

"I am..." Alexandra said slowly, "she turned her throne over to me upon her death, while Syrena avenged her."

"She couldn't have picked a better mermaid," Philip answered, "I owe you my life... we all do... for what you have done."

By now the boat had ground to a halt in the shallows and Groves leapt from it. He splashed through the water with several men on his heels.

"Are you alright, sir?!" he asked frantically.

"I am fine. Take her, she's suffered a wound." Philip answered.

Groves nodded and gestured for the men to pick her up. As they lifted her from the water, her tail melted away and into her legs again, leaving the sailor that had picked her up by the fins empty handed. He froze for a moment and looked at the water as it washed through his fingers, then looked to Groves in astonishment.

Syrena was the first to laugh, "You lucked out, sailor!"

Groves chuckled as Philip grinned and the sailor sheepishly nodded to her.

"I suppose so, ma'am."

Philip turned to Groves as they carried Syrena to the boat, "A Siren cut her under the ribs; I managed to cauterize it with the Blade."

Groves looked at the sheathed spadroon on Philip's hip and arched a brow, "A smart move, Commodore. I'll have the surgeon treat it as a burn."

They climbed into the boat and shoved off, bobbing back through the shallows as Alexandra drifted up alongside.

"What now, Philip?" she asked.

"We sail for Cornwall," Philip nodded to her, "Syrena and I have vows to take and you a wedding to behold."

The men in the boat looked to Philip, doing their best to keep their faces neutral.

"Oh, go ahead!" Groves grinned.

The men in the boat broke into smiles and cheered, waving their hats above their heads as Syrena smiled from where she laid in the boat.

"What's more, we've a coronation to attend as well!" Philip exclaimed.

The cheering died down as they turned their eyes to Alexandra, who tried to keep her lips from turning up.

"Your Grace!" one of the men bowed his head to her jovially.

"Well, this has been quite an eventful day..." Groves mused as he eased over the tiller, "An armada and the Devil's man defeated, an engagement, and the reign of a new queen!"

"Then hop to it!" Philip declared, "The faster we sail for Cornwall, the sooner you'll see that cake and the wine that comes with it!"

The men laughed and pulled harder on their oars, rowing back across the expanse towards the fleets that were finally starting to put out fires and pull entangled ships apart. There was much work to be done, but everyone was more than willing to do it.

The Minister looked to Philip with the warmest of expressions. Though he did not openly smile, he could see the expression trying to break out onto his face and the twinkle in his eyes.

Philip stood on the steps of the Holy Well, overlooking the cliffs of Cornwall and the gray Celtic Sea beyond. The air was cool, damp, and the sky a bright gray. As such, the bright and thick carpet of grass covering the rolling hills of Britain stood out. It was a beauty that few could understand. In spite of this backdrop, his eyes did not scan it, for they were on the eyes of someone who was even more beautifully mysterious... someone that only he and God could understand.

"I, Philip Swift, take thee, Syrena, to be my lawful wedded Wife," he said to her, "to have and to hold from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and cherish, till death do us part, according to God's Holy ordinance; and thereto I plight thee my troth."

The Minister's mouth finally turned up into a smile and he turned to Syrena, whose eyes never left the man standing across from her. She was clothed in a simple white dress, contrasting Philip's simple dark attire well. Before them sat their guests, seated in wooden chairs aligned in rows on the open ground between the abbey and the Holy Well. It wasn't entirely a wedding that would be written of in the papers, or a wedding that one would even want to make widely known. Across the front row sat Captains James Norrington, Jack Sparrow, Angelica Teach, Hector Barbossa, and William Turner. Behind them was a plethora of pirates and sailors, who had done their best to clean some of the grime from their faces and clothes. Behind the seats stood a rank of petty officers from the _Providence_, clad in their finest short jackets, trousers, and tarred hats, presided over by Theodore Groves and Daniel Gillette.

Syrena smiled, her eyes still on Philip's as she spoke, "I, Syrena, take thee, Philip Swift, to be my lawful wedded Husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love, cherish, and obey, till death do us part, according to God's Holy ordinance; and thereto I plight thee my troth."

The Minister's smile broadened as he turned back to Philip.

"Here you are, brother." Nathaniel said quietly into Philip's ear, stepping forward and placing the ring in his palm.

Philip held the ring up for Syrena to see. It was a simple band of gold, the outside engraved to resemble the scales of a fish. He took her hand and spoke to her as he slowly slid it on.

"With this ring I thee wed, with my body I thee worship, and with all my worldly goods I thee endow: In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit."

The Minister raised his hands to the crowd, "Ladies and Lords, may I present to you Philip and Syrena Swift. You may now kiss your bride."

Philip stepped up to Syrena and gently slid his hand behind her waist, pulling her close as she wrapped her arm about his neck. They leaned in and for the first time, met each other's lips as man and wife. The crowd stood and applauded; Jack removed his hat and reached back to Gibbs.

"Mr. Gibbs... you have permission to throw my hat... don't lose it this time!"

Gibbs chuckled, "Aye, Captain!"

"Detail, atten-shun!" Groves shouted, "Draw your swords!"

The smartly uniformed sailors snapped ramrod straight and pulled out their cutlasses, keeping them straight up against their sides so the tips of their blades rested on their shoulders.

"For-ard, march!"

They stepped off neatly, curving around to the front of the guests, lining up in two columns facing the Holy Well.

"Detail, halt! Outward, face!"

They stepped apart in perfect unison, the steel plates on the heels of their shoes clicking neatly.

"And about, face!"

Philip withdrew from Syrena, offering her his arm, which she took gently with a genuine smile.

"I thought this practice was reserved for navy weddings, Leftenant?" Philip asked Groves.

Groves shot a glance at Philip from where he stood at attention, a smile creeping onto his face.

"Well, we're not the King's Navy, are we?" Gillette asked from the other side.

Norrington clasped his hands behind his back from where he stood among the guests, cocking his head with an amused expression on his face.

"Present, arms!"

Philip and Syrena stepped down from the Holy Well, laughing and bowing their heads to duck under the sword arch. As they passed, each pair of sailors grinned and sheathed his cutlass to hurry off to the drinking that was already ensuing amongst the crews.

"Congratulations, Commodore and Mrs. Swift." Norrington bowed his head.

"Thank you for all that you've done." Syrena said back.

Jack accepted his hat from Gibbs, who quickly turned to get a drink before it vanished.

"Captain Sparrow... I thought you would be the first to the wine?" Philip asked.

Jack brushed aside his frock and pulled an entire bottle out of his waistcoat, grinning mischievously as Philip and Syrena laughed.

"You didn't think I'd settle for one glass, now did ya, mate?" he asked, "Especially not when it's this!"

Norrington stiffened at the comment and blinked, "Were this another time and I in another uniform, I'd have something harsh to say..."

Jack looked to Norrington with a grin, "You really should let go of yourself, former Commodore, er, former pirate, Admiral, whatever you were... are..."

Norrington shook his head with a small smile and stepped off, congregating with Groves and Gillette, the latter of which offered Norrington a glass. He took it and looked to Sparrow, raised it, and downed it.

"It appears Mr. Norrington _does_ have some room for personal indulgences, Captain Sparrow." Philip mused.

Jack gazed at Norrington for a moment absentmindedly, then frowned and looked to Philip, "I'm normally one to harp on being called _Captain_ Jack Sparrow... but for once, I _must_ insist you call me Jack!"

Philip and Syrena grinned and nodded, "Very well then, Jack."

Jack grinned and put his arms up, "You know what I love? Weddings! I love weddings! Drinks all around!"

He stumbled off, pulling a knife from his belt and working at his wine bottle's cork, much to the surprised looks of the crew as he walked by. He approached Angelica, who stood by the Minister with a wine glass in hand.

"Ah, Mr. Sparrow..." the Minister greeted him.

"That would be _Captain_, if you please." Jack answered crisply as he yanked the cork out of the bottle.

"I have been talking with Miss. Teach here..."

"Have you now?" Jack asked with a grin. He took a pull from the bottle and wiped his mouth, "You know, I've been thinking about the same thing, Angelica."

"About what?" she asked.

"Well, with this being a wedding and all... and us having a minister... conveniently... right here..." Jack mused.

The Minister arched a brow and opened his mouth in amused surprise as Angelica's brow furrowed into a dark look.

"What?" she snapped.

"He could take more than one set of vows today, savvy?" Jack suggested.

Angelica tossed the wine in Jack's face and he froze. For a moment, they stood there, staring at one another as droplets of wine ran down Jack's nose and onto his beard. He licked his lips and smiled.

"That's good stuff you're having!"

Angelica bared her teeth with a small snarl and slapped him hard across the face, storming off as the Minister rushed to catch Jack.

"Are you alright?" the Minister asked, trying not to laugh.

"I _did_ deserve that..." Jack mumbled.

Philip and Syrena stood next to each other, looking out over the cliffs at the Celtic Sea and the sunset as the day finally waned. Nathaniel walked up behind them with a glass and cleared his throat.

"Here's to you brother, and you... sister." he said with a sincere smile.

Philip and Syrena looked back to him and Philip nodded, "Thank you, Nathaniel."

Nathaniel downed his glass and raised it to them again as he made to walk away, then he paused and arched a brow.

"Say, you wouldn't mind introducing me to one of your friends, Syrena?"

Syrena bit back a laugh and nodded, "Perhaps, Nathaniel, perhaps..."

Nathaniel cocked his head, "I like women with red hair..."

Philip waved at him, "Go enjoy the party you crazy git!"

Nathaniel grinned and walked away, leaving them alone again.

"Surely he can't mean Alexandra?" Philip asked.

"I think he does..." Syrena replied as she rested her head on Philip's shoulder, "can you imagine? Your brother with the Queen of the Mermaids?"

"Even if it did happen... she's not the greatest of them all..." Philip told her.

"Then who is? If not the Queen?"

Philip looked at her, "You are, my Syrena."

She smiled and met him in another kiss, then they looked back out to watch their first Cornish sunset as Mr. and Mrs. Swift.

The sun beat down relentlessly on the dry, parched earth that was India. Even in the shade of the palm and date trees, the air was unbearably hot. A lone rider galloped along a dusty road, the skirts of his scarlet frock billowing behind him. He rode through the archway of an old fort, the stone walls of which were covered in cracked plaster and overlooked by black iron guns. Once inside the compound, the reined his steed to a stop and hopped down, handing the animal over to a dark-skinned Sepoy. Another Sepoy, who wore a British uniform and a white turban in lieu of a cocked hat, gestured to an open doorway and led him inside. They trooped down the hall and the Sepoy knocked on a large oak door.

"Enter." a voice boomed from inside.

The Sepoy opened the door and the courier entered, removing his dusty cocked hat and white riding gloves.

"I have correspondence for His Lordship, the Baron."

The Colonel on the opposite side of a desk beckoned with his fingers to produce the message, a gesture to which the courier shook his head.

"I am afraid I cannot do that, sir. This message is to be seen by His Lordship alone."

The Colonel eyed the courier standing across the room for a moment before standing, "Follow me, Sergeant."

They both strode through a doorway in the back of the office and down another small hall lined with doors, entering one at the opposite end of the hall. It opened into a large room that was washed white, the plaster walls adorned with paintings of the many glorious engagements throughout British history. The floor was covered with large black and white checkered tiles that had recently seen polish, a contrast to the well-worn and scraped wooden floors of the other rooms in the fort. On one wall was a large map of the subcontinent, which was covered with many pink regions denoting British control. On the opposite side of the room was a large oak desk, behind which a large flag was hung on the wall. It was a red and white striped flag with the Union Jack set in the corner.

The flag of the Honorable East India Trading Company.

"Wait here." the Colonel said quietly.

The Sergeant stood silently as the Colonel approached another doorway that led out onto a balcony, which was flanked by open windows covered with see-through drapes that billowed in the breeze. There was a hushed exchange of words outside and the Colonel stepped back inside, placing one hand gracefully behind his back as another man entered. He was in his upper middle age, balding, and boasting the weight of a man wealthy enough to spend a comfortable amount of time and money eating. What was left of his hair was actually powdered and pulled back into a club, and as such there was a faint line of crust along his hairline from his sweat interacting with the powder. He was dressed in a red frock with blue facings and gilt buttonhole trim, under which he wore a white waistcoat, breeches, and hose. A red silk sash was worn diagonally across his chest under his frock and a Knightly order was pinned to his left breast.

"My Lord." the Sergeant bowed, gesturing further with his hands.

"What is it, Sergeant, that brings you directly to my presence?" the Lord asked.

"Correspondence, My Lord," the Sergeant answered, "Directly from the Company offices in Cornwall."

"And you _had_ to deliver it to me? I don't keep a full Colonel as my aide for no reason at all!" the Lord replied angrily.

"It is but for your eyes only, My Lord." the Sergeant replied quickly.

"Then hand it over and be out of my sight!" the Lord snapped.

The Sergeant delved into his brown leather satchel and produced a canvas envelope, bearing the stamp of the Company on the front and a red wax seal on the back. He extended it to the Lord, who snatched it away and waved for the Colonel and Sergeant to leave.

Once they were gone, the Lord turned it over and broke the seal, pulling the letter from the envelope, which he tossed down on his desk. After reading it, he looked up and strode to the door and called down the hall.

"Colonel Wormwood, send for Captain Allen!" he ordered.

The Lord turned and strode back to his desk, setting the letter down and approaching his wine cabinet. He began pouring two glasses of white wine and looked at the map across the room as he waited. The areas drawn out with red and filled with pink were not officially property of the Company, but they soon would be... unless his plans were foiled as Beckett's had been.

Minutes later there was a knock on the door frame and the Lord looked to see an officer clad in a Company Escort Service uniform. He had a thin face and naturally white hair despite a youthful complexion. His expression was blank, soldierly, loyal, and dutiful.

"Ah, Captain Allen, do come in," the Lord greeted him, "Care for some wine?"

"If His Lordship wishes it," Allen replied, "it would be my pleasure."

The Captain approached and fetched the other glass, taking a sip, "What can I do for you, My Lord?"

The Lord tapped the letter on the desk, "I have a personal mission for you to take care of."

Allen nodded courteously, "As you wish, My Lord."

"Nathaniel Swift is _alive_." the Lord informed him.

There was a moment of silence before Allen opened his mouth.

"Is he now? I wonder how he managed to escape and feint his death for so long?"

The Lord picked up the paper and lit a candle on his desk, "I hope you intend to see to it that we are the only ones to discover he is alive."

"I will dispatch him quickly, My Lord."

The Lord nodded as he held the letter over the candle and let it burn, "Good... because dead men tell no tales."


End file.
